Time for a Change
by Les Bonser
Summary: Mega crossover with over 160 characters, including ST:TNG, ST:DS9, Batman, Catwoman, Iron Man, Superman, and James Bond
1. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Prolog

Contrary to popular belief, ours is not the only universe. Our universe, everything you see around you, everything that can be seen by the most powerful telescope, everything beyond mankind's furthest sight, is but one single universe. There are many others.

* * *

## Chapter 1

### The present day, New York City

UP Newswire -- New York. The Latverian Embassy said today that various scientific and technical inventions of the late Victor Von Doom will be auctioned next week. The embassy indicated that the auction items are available for preview at the Latverian Embassy here in New York.

Political analysts feel the sales of advanced technology developed by the late "Dr. Doom" are the inevitable result of the ever changing political climate of Eastern Europe. Economic analysts on Wall Street felt that a move toward open commerce with the remainder of the world is necessary to reverse the economic and social stagnation of Latveria. Latveria is a small Baltic nation that has suffered under the dictatorship of Von Doom for the past twenty years.

Among the items allegedly for sale include various particle beam weapons, robotics, and a purported "time machine."

* * *

### Central Perk, a coffeehouse in New York City...

"A time machine. Wow." Ross put down the newspaper and looked at his friends. "Think about it. A time machine."

"Ross, do you *really* think he invented a 'time machine'?" his sister, Monica, asked. She held up each hand and emphasized "time machine" with her fingers.

"Well, maybe..." Ross pondered the thought.

"Anyone else want more coffee?" Rachel asked.

"Sure," Monica said. She handed her cup to her friend. "Sounds like something out of the 'National Enquirer,' if you ask me."

"But, think about the possibilities," Ross said. "Someone could go back in time and stop Hitler. Or prevent JFK from being killed."

"Or prevent Monica from getting that really bad haircut," Chandler chimed in.

"Hey!" Monica yelled.

"Hey, it's not that bad," Phoebe said.

"Yes, it is," Joey said, laughing.

The rest of Monica's friends tried to hide their amusement and politely turned away from her to prevent her from seeing their grins. "She's right," Monica pleaded, "It's not that bad." She turned to look at each of her friends, one after the other. The pleading look on her face was ignored by everyone.

* * *

### Stark Penthouse, overlooking downtown Manhattan...

Anthony Stark arose from the bed. The clock beside the bed showed the time to be 2:47 am. In college, he had often spent long hours studying instead of sleeping. Later, when he took over his father's munitions business, he had often worked 36-hour days. Tony was often courted by slumber, but only succumbed when all the other demons that drove him were quieted.

This morning was no different. Tony had things to do. He slipped into a pair of slacks and a simple polo shirt. He then took a long, lingering look from his panoramic view of the city. The bedroom was a 360-degree circular extension of the penthouse, rising above the remainder of the structure.

The moon was just rising above the East River and Long Island. It glinted across the water as Tony rubbed his eyes one last time and padded off to the stairs. His private study was one flight down; close access for the times like this. When the creative urge hit, he didn't want to have to leave home and waste time driving to his office at Stark Solutions.

The computers in the study were linked via fiber optic networking with the main systems at the Stark Solutions offices. The fiber optic link was backed up by not one, but two, T-3 data links. All of the computer network links were encrypted for security. Through the connection to the main systems, Tony could access the Internet, the Avengers Telecommunications Network, and numerous other computer and conventional telephone networks. There was really no need to work in the office--everything could be done from home.

As Tony walked into the study, the household computer sensed him and turned on the lights. The lights were slightly dimmed. They were pre- programmed for his preference. Likewise, the computer activated the coffee machine and soon the smell of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee filled the room.

Tony sat pensively in the ergonomic chair in front of the main computer console. This morning, there was no overriding urge to work on anything in particular. He could review the third quarter financial statements, he could review several requests for proposals from various government agencies, he could refine the beta wave generator design. Or, he could work on almost any other project; there were literally dozens of projects to work on. Tony Stark was famous for being an engineering and business genius who juggled literally dozens of projects.

Unlike other CEOs, Tony was always in the middle of his company's major projects. He often left the day-to-day supervision of the projects to his well-paid and totally qualified managers, but Stark himself usually did the design work himself. If the Advanced Energy Agency was soliciting bids for a new alternative to nuclear power plants, Tony himself was the first to study the RFP. He also took first stab at the designs for whatever new piece of equipment his company was contracting to design and build.

And, of course, there were pet projects that only Stark himself worked on. Projects like the design for the Avengers Quintjet or his own space station, Ad Astra.

Tony decided to scan through the news first. He switched on the computer console and picked up the remote control. His coffee was ready and he flicked the remote as he walked to the kitchen area of the study. As he poured a cup of the rich, smooth coffee, he started to listen to the news in the background. Only, it wasn't news.

The maid must have reset the channels on the television again. How many times have I told her not to do that, Tony thought. Slightly annoyed, he pointed the remote control at the television console and pressed the scan button. A brief moment of sound from each channel blended into an incoherent mix. "Today in Bosnia...have it your way...Iron Man tribute...have you driven a..."

Iron Man tribute? Tony thought. He picked up the coffee and walked back to the console. He pressed the remote control deliberately, searching for the channel with the Iron Man story.

He was slightly disappointed when he found it. "Welcome back to Superhero Celebrity News," the commentator's smooth voice said. "In today's stories we have the latest news of the Avengers and the Fantastic Four, as well as a tribute to Iron Man on the fifteenth anniversary of the Golden Avenger's first appearance. First up, new fashions for the Invisible Woman and the Wasp..."

"Superhero Celebrity News," Tony mumbled with a frown. As if cable television wasn't bad enough, now this. Disgusted, he turned off the television and instead selected the stereo. Classical music filled the study as Tony turned to the computer console and called up his appointment schedule.

Has it really been fifteen years? he wondered to himself. His mind wandered back over the years. Yeah, I guess it has been, he realized. Funny how you loose track of time, he thought.

Iron Man was another of those exclusive projects that only Tony Stark worked on. To the public, Iron Man was, plain and simple, a superhero; a founding member of the Avengers. In annual reports, Iron Man was listed as Stark's anonymous bodyguard whose salary was donated to charity. Iron Man was, after Disney's Mickey Mouse, one of the world's most recognized and highly-visible corporate symbols.

To Tony Stark, Iron Man was first and foremost, his greatest engineering achievement. But Iron Man was more than just a pretty suit of high-tech armor--Iron Man was Stark's life and soul. For Stark himself was the Man inside the Iron.

* * *

The red and gold Iron Man armor hung on the refurbishing rack. This suit was one of four; typically, two were housed here at Stark's home, one in a secure sub-basement at Stark Solutions, and an older model was stored at the Avengers Mansion as a backup. In addition to the full suits, Stark had multiple replacements for certain key parts of the suit that tended to wear out faster, such as helmets, gauntlets, and boots.

The suits were among the most sophisticated pieces of equipment ever made by human hands, and therefore, were fallible. Tony Stark's life, and often the lives of others, depended on the suit working as designed. Therefore, Stark had not only built triple-redundant fail-safes into each of the suit's major systems, he had also duplicated the suit several times over. That way, he would always have a suit and its spares ready when the need arose.

The popular press often referred to the suit as a suit of armor, which conjured up visions of knights in bulky plate armor riding horses in medieval battles. In actuality, the Iron Man suit had far more in common with the Jetsons than King Arthur.

Like most successful machines, the Iron Man suit was a basic design that worked and worked well, but which was constantly refined and improved. The original suit had been little more than shaped steel plates riveted together and powered by simple direct current motors. Each version of the suit became more sophisticated. The latest version bore little resemblance to the original.

While some parts of the suit were still solid pieces of shaped metal, most of the suit was actually composed of millions of tiny "tiles," each smaller than a dime. Most of the tiles were hexagonal in shape, but some are pentagonal or triangular (as location and function dictated).

Each of the tiles interconnected, mechanically and electronically, with adjoining tiles. When joined, like some complex geodesic jig-saw puzzle, the tiles linked together to form the components of the suit: gauntlets, boots, legs, arms, torso, and helmet.

A typical tile component was comprised of many layers; each layer providing a specific function. The outermost layer of most tiles was a electromagnetically-deposited surface of diamond for overall thermal and scratch protection. Under the diamond surface, a thin layer of gallium arsenide provided solar power collection. Both of these two layers were so thin, they were basically transparent. The next layer was a protective layer of high temperature enamel which provided the characteristic gold or red color. This was the only portion of the entire suit design which bowed to appearance; and then only after conforming to a specific function.

Inside the enamel layer, there were various components such as energy storage and heat exchange mechanisms, as well as structural components for each tile.

Deep within each tile were several small linear motors. These motors were interconnected with the motors in each of the adjoining tiles. In unison, the motors provided the mobility and power to the suit. Just as the individual muscle cells in say, the thigh, might contract together flex the knee and lift the lower leg, so too do the motors in the tiles contract together to provide similar movement. Although each of the tiles was actually smaller than a dime and can affect movement over only about 1/16th of an inch, in concert, the tiles allowed for tremendous strength amplification. When combined with an adequate power supply, the Iron Man suit allowed its wearer to lift tons.

To coordinate the various functions of the tile and to interact with the adjoining tiles in unison, each tile contained a complete computer system. This custom-designed computer "chip" at the heart of each tile was the equivalent of a 64-bit mainframe computer, complete with memory. Together, the suit tiles formed what would amount to the world's most powerful massively parallel computer system.

The tiles worked together mechanically to provide the mobility and strength of the suit, but tiny magnetic fields generated by each tile formed a "force-field" around the entire suit, providing an integrity field for defensive purposes. Although the combination of invincibility and physical strength clearly classified the Iron Man suit as providing "superhuman" abilities to its wearer, there were additional sub-systems providing other "powers."

In each boot, there were six tiny (each less than 2-inches in length) electromagnetic turbines. Each of these turbines spun at 100,000 revolutions per minute. The combined thrust of all twelve turbines was around 4,000 pounds of thrust, which provided flight capability to the suit.

The complexity of the turbines contributed to the fact that the boots tended to wear out faster than other parts of the suit. Just like airliner jet engines, the boot jets had to be overhauled after a certain number of hours use.

The turbines and the air intakes were built into the thick "cuff" of each boot, basically encircling each calf. Thermal-protected ducting directed the resulting exhaust to the sole of each boot, where recessed nozzles directed the exhaust flow as dictated by the need. For hovering, a broad, widespread exhaust provided stability, whereas horizontal or high-speed vertical flight required a more focused, narrow exhaust.

The major offensive weapon of the suit was the palm mounted "repulsor rays." A derivative of government-funded Space Defense Initiative (SDI, or "Star Wars") research into particle beam weapons, the repulsor were actually two-inch diameter semiconductors in the palm of each gauntlet. When energized, the semiconductor array in each repulsor unit emitted a beam of neutrons. When the beam struck a solid object, the sub-atomic interaction resulted in the object being "repulsed," or jolted away from the beam. By varying the beam strength, the suit wearer can produce an effect from a simple nudge to blowing a hole through a six-inch plate of steel.

* * *

### Stark Solutions office, midtown Manhattan

In the end, Tony spent the early morning hours reviewing company business rather than indulging in one of his pet projects. Between running a multi-billion dollar company, being a superhero, and inventing the future, he sometimes wondered why he bothered with sleep at all.

Eventually, the sun rose and brought a new day with it. Tony logged off the computer system and took a shower and prepared for the day. Within an hour, he was in his office at the top of the Stark Solutions administration building.

Pepper was already there. Virginia "Pepper" Potts was his personal assistant and a dear old friend, more than simply a secretary. Whatever odd hours Tony put in at the office, she was almost always there. He wondered if she didn't simply live in the building; she was there nearly as often as he was.

Coffee was already waiting in his office, freshly brewed. He knew that the computer systems in the office and his home were linked and that he had personally programmed the automatic subroutines that allowed the machines of his life to track his movements and anticipate his needs. But Tony couldn't help wondering just how much Pepper had to do with such things. She was eerie that way; she anticipated his needs and wants just as efficiently as his computer systems.

At the top of the pile of papers and other mail on his desk was the "Wall Street Journal." Tony sipped on his coffee as he sat at the large desk and opened the paper.

Moments later, he dropped the paper. He shook his head. "This is very bad," he mouthed to himself. He picked up the paper and reread the article. This time, after reading the article, he throw down the paper and cursed.

"Morning, Tony," Bethany Cabe said as she came into Stark's office just in time to hear his outburst. Cabe was Stark's Chief of Security. She and Stark had also been a couple many years ago, but now were the best of friends.

Tony grunted.

"You're in a good mood today," Beth noted. "Your stock portfolio down this morning?"

"Read this," Tony said, thrusting the newspaper into his former lover's face.

"Oh, shit," Beth said after scanning the article.

"Yeah," Tony agreed. He was busy dialing his private video phone. Seconds later, Natasha Romanoff's face appeared on the screen.

"Tony!" Natasha's face lit up when she saw Tony at the other end of the video link. Her face grew darker when she saw Tony's mood. "Tony, what's wrong?"

"Widow, have you read the news about Latveria selling Doom's technology?"

"What?!?" Natasha, also known as the Black Widow, was a former SHIELD and Soviet agent. She had also been the leader of the Avengers. And, she was one of Tony's closest friends. She recognized the security implications immediately. Dr. Doom's weapons on the open market. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

"Tasha," Tony said, his voice cold and precise, "We need to do whatever is necessary to stop this." Tony Stark, in his role as Iron Man, had dealt with Von Doom on several occasions. One of those occasions had resulted in Dr. Doom and Iron Man traveling far into the past via Doom's time machine. Stark, perhaps more than anyone, knew the extent of Doom's genius, and therefore, knew the extent of the potential problems that could result from the release of this technology to the highest bidder. As a businessman and philanthropist, Stark understood the need to rebuilt the nation of Latveria, but knew that had to be better ways.

"I agree," Beth said, leaning into the videophone's field of view.

"As do I," the Black Widow said.

* * *

### Daily Bugle Offices, New York City

"Parker!"

Peter Parker turned at the sound of his name. He turned to the direction of J. Jonah Jameson's office. JJJ was the editor and chief of the "Daily Bugle" and a royal stick in the mud. And the guy who signs my paycheck, Peter reminded himself.

"Yes, Mr. Jameson?" Peter said as he walked into J. Jonah's office.

"Parker, you're some sort of egghead, right?"

"Well..."

"I mean, you've got some sort of degree in science, right?" Jameson demanded.

"Uh, yes, Mr. Jameson," Peter said. "I have a Master's degree in biochemistry."

"Close enough. Our regular science guy is out with the flu. You're working on a story over at the Latverian Embassy. I want pictures and copy in two hours."

"Latverian Embassy?" Peter asked.

"Go!" Jameson yelled.

Parker turned and hurried out of the office.

* * *

### A diner in New York City

Comedian Jerry Seinfeld walked into the diner to meet his friends George, Elaine, and Kramer for lunch. George and Elaine were already there.

"Hey George, hey Elaine," Jerry said as he sat down with his friends.

"Hello, Jerry," Elaine said.

George didn't say anything.

"What's with him?" Jerry asked Elaine.

"I don't know," Elaine said. She nudged George with her elbow.

"Hi, Jerry," George said weakly.

Jerry gave his best friend a look. Poor George, Jerry thought, must still be having trouble with his latest girlfriend. "Coffee," he told the waitress.

"So, Elaine," Jerry said. "I was just up on Sixth Avenue. There's a lot of activity up at that embassy, you know, the one with all the gargoyles."

"Yeah, I know the one you mean," Elaine said.

"You suppose they're having some sort of art show or something?" Jerry asked.

"I heard they're selling all of Doctor Doom's scientific gadgets," Elaine told her friend.

"'Doctor Doom,'" Jerry repeated, lowering his voice for effect. "What sort of name is that? Is he a doctor doctor, or one of those P-H-D doctors?" The waitress brought Jerry his coffee.

"I don't know," Elaine said. "Peterman was talking about him a while back. He was some monarch in Eastern Europe or something. Disappeared a couple years ago, I think. I guess he's dead now."

"So what sort of gadgets did 'Doctor Doom' have?" Jerry asked.

"Something about a time machine or something, I don't know." Elaine shrugged.

"A time machine?" Jerry asked. "You're serious? A time machine."

"Time machine?" Kramer repeated, just walking in. "What about a time machine, Jerry?"

"I was just telling George and Elaine that there's something going on up on Sixth..."

"The gargoyles," Kramer said, pointing his index finger at Jerry.

"Yeah, that's the place. Elaine says they have a time machine." Jerry said, "So, Lainy, suppose you had this time machine. What would you do with it?"

"I don't know," Elaine said. "I guess I'd travel through time."

"Right," George said, finally joining the conversation. "If we had flying cars, we won't need a time machine!"

"Enough with the flying cars!" Jerry said. "Come on, what would you do, George?"

"Oh, I guess I'd go back and watch myself being born," George answered.

"Oh, gross," Elaine exclaimed. "How could you do that, George?"

"Well...." George started.

"I know I couldn't stand to go back to my birth," Elaine said. "I could not stand to see my mother on the delivery table with her legs open and me coming out..."

"Enough!" Jerry commanded. "I don't need to picture that." Jerry turned to Kramer. "What about you, Cosmo?"

"The future, Jerry. The future." Kramer paused, then clapped his hands suddenly. "The future. Wham, Bang." Another pause. "The future!"

Jerry looked at Kramer for a moment. Cosmo was so excited by the idea, he was actually vibrating. Jerry took a sip of his coffee and then said, "So, if 'Doctor Doom' had this time machine, why is he dead?"

"What do you mean?" Elaine asked.

"Well," Jerry explained, "Think about it. If you had a time machine, you'd go into the future." He looked at Kramer, "Like Cosmo here."

Kramer smiled, still vibrating with excitement.

"You'd go to the library and look through all the old newspapers until you found your obituary. Then you find out when and where you died. You then take the time machine back to now. And you just never go to where you died."

"That wouldn't work," George said.

"What do you think, Future Boy?" Jerry asked Kramer.

"'Future Boy?' Oh, that's funny," Kramer said.

"You're not laughing," Jerry pointed out.

"I am on the inside, Jerry. I am on the inside!"

* * *

### A sound stage in Detroit

Heidi, a well-endowed young woman dressed in overalls, walked in front of the crowd. She stepped up to a microphone at one side of the sound stage. "What time is it?" she yelled into the microphone.

"Tool Time," the audience yelled in return.

"That's right," Heidi said into the microphone. "Binford Tools is proud to present Tim 'the Tool Man' Taylor."

The audience broke out into applause, punctuated with hoots and grunts. Tim Taylor ran onto the stage. The stage was made up to look like a work shop, complete with various power tools and a workbench.

"Hello," Tim said. "Oooow, ooow, ooow," he hooted as he took off his jacket. The men (and a few women) in the audience grunted in return. Tim grinned into the camera. "And you all know my partner, Al 'Born to be Boring' Borland."

Al Borland ran onto stage and saluted the audience. More applause. "Hello, Tim," Al said.

"Well, Al, what are we going to do today?" Tim asked his plaid-clad assistant.

"Tim, it's that time of year again. Winter will be here soon and we're going to show you how to winter-proof your lawn and garden tools."

"Speaking of time," Tim said, "Did you see where the Lat...Later..."

"Latverian, Tim?" Al suggested, a smug look on his face.

"Yeah, Latverian. Did you see where the Latverian Embassy is trying to sell a time machine?"

"Uh, Tim," Al said. "We should be showing our audience how to winter- proof their lawn tractor."

"Al, Al, Al," Tim chided. "The name of the show *is* 'Tool *Time*', after all." Tim looked at his assistant with that 'shut up and let me talk, I'm the boss' look.

Al shrugged and stepped back out of camera range. Al knew when to let Tim have his time in the spotlight.

"Wouldn't you like to see that bad boy?" Tim asked the audience. They answered with more grunts. "I wonder if it has dual-overhead chronometers?" Tim laughed at this own joke and looked somewhat annoyed when he saw that Al was not laughing.

"Okay, okay, Al," Tim conceded. He walked over to the workbench and knelt down next of a Binford 3210 deluxe lawn tractor with extra wide cutting attachment. "Winter will be here before you know it. *Time* flies when you're mowing grass, you know."

"Uh, right, Tim," Al said, getting back into the mood of the show. "Before you park you lawn tractor for the winter, you should perform some basic maintenance."

"Basic maintenance like draining the gas tank, for example," Tim said. "Speaking of gas, I wonder how many years per gallon that time machine gets?"

"Well, Tim," Al said. "Maybe we'll figure that out after these messages from Binford Tools."

* * *

Peter Parker, free-lance photographer working for the Daily Bugle, walked into the Latverian Embassy. He showed his press pass to the guard at the front desk and was directed to the public relations office.

The secretary in the public relations office handed him a briefing packet, a brochure about Latveria and a handful of typewritten facts and figures about the auction. She explained, politely, but firmly, that the Latverian government was not granting interviews.

Peter tried to explain that he wasn't a reporter, only a photographer, and he just wanted to get some pictures of some of the auction items. The secretary simply wouldn't hear of it. She dismissed Peter without a further word.

He took the press packet and left. He told himself he should probably try harder. But then, he was just a photographer.

Peter preferred taking photos to just about anything else in the world. It was right at the top of his list of favorite things, right behind his wife, Mary Jane, and being Spider-Man.

He'd made his reputation as an action photographer because of his daring fight shots of Spider-Man against any one of Spidey's enemies. What J. Jonah Jameson, Robbie Robinson, and everyone else at the Bugle didn't realize was that the pictures were usually taken by remote control. There was a small remote control sewn into the glove of his Spider-Man costume. And when he had the chance to plant the remote controlled cameras in the area, he could get shots of himself in action.

For those times when he couldn't plant the cameras, he had a smaller camera built into this belt buckle. He couldn't get any shots of Spidey, himself, that way, but he could get some of his opponents.

Today, he didn't have the remote-controlled cameras with him. He had his trusty Leica M6 today. The assignment was supposed to be easy, just some stock pictures of the various machines and treasures up for auction by the Latverians.

The Bugle was pushing its photographers to switch to digital cameras, but Peter preferred the 35mm rangefinder. After all, the Leica M series had been the cornerstone of photojournalism since the 1930's. Digital cameras would speed up the printing process at the newspaper, but Peter just didn't feel that the picture quality was up to his standards yet. And since he was a freelancer, he could call his own shots--no pun intended.

Peter stopped at the corner hot dog vendor and bought two with everything. He then walked half a block to the neighborhood park and sat on a bench to eat and try and come up with an excuse for J. Jonah. Ol' JJJ will blow a gasket if I show up without any pictures, he told himself.

He popped the last bite of the second hot dog into his mouth and licked his fingers clean. He then pulled the press packet out of his photo vest pocket and thumbed through it.

It was in the press packet that Peter realized that the Latverian Embassy wasn't where he'd wanted to be. The actual auction was being held at Sutheby's, the famous auction house. He jumped up and headed across town.

Sutheby's was a little more hospitable than the secretary at the Embassy had been. They allowed him in and he had his shots in less than 15 minutes. He even got them back to the Bugle well before deadline.

* * *


	2. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 2

### Gotham City

To the average Gotham City resident who reads the daily newspaper or watches the evening news, the Batman was an enigma. Rarely photographed, he was, depending upon your views, either a courageous vigilante, the city's savior, a royal pain in the butt to the police, or a psychopathic maniac no better than the costumed criminals he supposedly hunted down.

In reality, the Batman viewed himself as a detective, plain and simple. The cape and costume were simply tools. Although he trained himself in the many forms of self-defense, he took special pride in the fact that his mind had gotten him out of more tight spots than his brawn.

What few people realized was detective work was generally boring. It involved hours of research, endlessly following leads that often went nowhere.

To help his research, Batman had access to an array of equipment that would be the envy of any police department in the world. It was just one of the advantages to being a billionaire. As Bruce Wayne, playboy industrialist and heir to one of the largest family fortunes in the world, he had money and owned several computer, munitions, and industrial companies.

The sub-basements of his mansion and the caverns under the mansion were full of computers and various forms of analytical equipment. The computers were connected, by circuitous telecommunication routes that were untraceable, to every major crime and general purpose database in the country and to many overseas. Moreover, what the Batman could not acquire, Wayne Enterprises or one of its subsidiary companies could.

He had everything from microscopes to microprocessors at his disposal, but sometimes Batman found the best source of information was simply to read the morning paper.

Take this morning's Gotham Gazette, for example. Alfred had pointed out the article to him after his morning nap. Bruce Wayne had awoke at promptly 9:00 a.m. As was his habit, he took a quick shower and then went down to the kitchen. There, Alfred had prepared the morning's breakfast, as always. Along with the oatmeal, protein drink, vitamin supplements, and orange juice were copies of all the major east coast newspapers. Wayne Manor received everything a major businessman of Bruce Wayne's caliber would need: the Metropolis Daily Planet, the Boston Globe, the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the two Gotham papers, the Gazette and the Herald.

Most mornings, as he had this morning, Alfred took the liberty of previewing the newspapers and arranging them in the order of importance for the day. Sometimes, the news of the Joker's latest escape would warrant Batman's attention first. Other mornings, a business article for Bruce Wayne might be first on the list. This morning, it was the former that caught the manservant's attention.

A string of unsolved robberies was the primary headline. The mayor was calling for the police to do something. Batman had been following the cases, but so far had turned up no leads of his own. So far, the thefts had no common thread, no themes were indicated which pointed to any of the costumed criminals that he so often tangled with. Without a theme to the crimes, the string of possible candidates was considerable. If only there were some clear MO to help narrow down the suspects.

Bruce read the article and several editorials related to it quickly. He was unable to glean any additional information that might prove helpful from the story. It was simply a rehash of the last week's worth of stories and was obviously written by a reporter intent only on police bashing.

He laid the paper down to concentrate on finishing his breakfast. The previous night had been largely uneventful, but he had spent a long time tracking down him informants and seemed to be particularly hungry this morning.

"Might I suggest you view the entertainment section, sir," Alfred said as he removed Bruce's empty bowl and replaced it with another.

"The entertainment section?" Bruce questioned, spoon hovering over the steaming oatmeal.

"Why yes, sir," Alfred said. He spoke in the quiet and refined manner of the British, although he had lived in the United States most of this adult life. "There are some extraordinary museum exhibits in town at present. You might like to visit one."

Bruce picked up the top paper, the Gotham Gazette, and flipped to the entertainment section. He started with the beginning of the section and quickly read each article and looked at each advertisement. On page 4 of the section, he spotted what Alfred had obviously intended him to see. The Gotham Metropolitan Museum of Fine Art was hosting an exclusive showing of rare gemstones. Several of the gems would be auctioned off next week in New York, with the profits going to the Princess Diana Charities. The event here in Gotham City was a fund raising party that evening. The perfect social event for Bruce Wayne to keep up appearances.

"You received the invitation Monday," Alfred informed him. "Shall I extend your regrets, sir?"

Bruce finished reading the article. It mentioned the exhibit of the "Lion's Soul," a seldom displayed cat's eye gem, along with a number of other priceless stones. "No, Alfred. I think I could use a night on the town."

The previous night's efforts tracking down and questioning his informants had yielded nothing. But a most tempting lead presented itself this morning in the last sentence of a small article buried in the middle of the morning paper.

* * *

Bruce smiled and nodded as his date for the evening, Candi Darling, continued talking about the new movie role she had landed. He quietly sipped his tonic water and occasionally took hors d'oeuvres from the trays being passed around. The actress clung to his arm and several times patted him on the behind. He pretended to enjoy the attention; not that his image was that of a wall flower.

Numerous other guests to the fund-raiser stopped by, casually making the social comments required at such functions. Various men and women stopped by to talk with Bruce and Candi. Most of the men simply wanted to see what new beauty Bruce showed up with, but some were genuine business colleagues or other acquaintances. The endless mingling and small talk was typical for this sort of function. Everyone in the room had paid $5,000 to eat expensive caviar and drink champagne amidst the sparkling jewels of the museum's latest exhibits.

"I'm prettier than she is," Candi exclaimed.

"Prettier than who?" Bruce asked.

"That woman you were ogling. Really! Aren't I enough for you?"

Bruce smiled. He hadn't been ogling the woman. He had been studying the way she moved, trying to match her body language to Selina Kyle's. Selina Kyle, also known as the Catwoman, was Gotham's most notorious burglars. He was certain that the recent string of thefts was simply the prelude to the big heist. The "Lion's Soul" was just the sort of thing Catwoman could not resist. So far, he hadn't seen anyone that could have been her, in or out of disguise.

"Maybe you want to try a three-way, Brucie?" Candi said, with a sly wink.

Bruce patted the paunch of his stomach and laughed. "I'm too out of shape for that sort of a workout."

The tuxedo he wore was purchased in London from one of the world's most exclusive tailors. This particular tailor was known for his sensitivity to his client's privacy. Bruce had discretely requested that the tuxedo be made slightly too big. It was not an unusual request these days. Many of the tailor's clients were rich and famous, ranging from Middle Eastern sheiks to Japanese tycoons. With the current state of the world, it was often a wise precaution for jet-setting billionaires to wear a bullet-proof vest under their clothes.

Bruce wasn't wearing body armor, but rather padding that Alfred had added to the tuxedo jacket. He couldn't be too careful about exposing his secret. It just didn't fit the playboy role to be built like an Olympic-level athlete. Bruce used the padding to make himself look like the typical soft executive; too much time for parties, not enough for exercise.

The rest of the evening was largely uneventful. Bruce laughed at all the right times and pretended to listen intently to everything. He played the role of womanizer to the hilt, eyeing every woman that walked by. But he saw none that could have been Catwoman.

By the end of the evening, he had memorized each of the gems on display, as well has the layout of the room and the extent of the security. He easily spotted the "hidden" cameras and motion sensors.

* * *

Two hours after the party broke up and the museum closed, Batman stood on the roof of the museum's east wing. He was intently watching the weak spot in the museum's security system. On the roof of the museum's entrance hall was a maintenance door that allowed workers access to the window washing scaffolding. The door was no doubt locked, but he knew that Catwoman was an expert at picking almost any type of lock. She could easily climb up the side of the building and enter through the largely unattended door. Batman had studied the building from all angles and that was the most logical way in.

He hid beside the air conditioning system, his black cape covering him. He blended into the darkness of the moon-less night like a wisp of smoke. He held a small pair of night vision goggles to his eyes and routinely scanned the area. Intent on watching for someone to enter the museum, he was caught unaware when the roof door opened and someone left.

Damn, he thought to himself, she must have entered somewhere else or secreted herself inside prior to the building closing. He watched from his safe perch as Catwoman peered over the edge of the building and looked around. The security guards made rounds inside the museum every half hour and would pass the front entrance any moment. Batman quickly glanced to the front of the museum and checked. The large glass windows afforded the entire entry hall an open view. The security guard was just passing through the entry hall from the east wing, headed for the west wing. From her vantage point, Catwoman could see his shadow float across the floor and up the opposite wall.

She waited several minutes before she decided it was safe. The guard could always come back. She had gotten this far and didn't want to mess up a good deal. The "Lion's Soul" was considered priceless, but would probably bring $5 million on the black market. She could live in comfort for several years on that sort of money.

When she decided the time was right, Catwoman tied a thin rope to a vent pipe and quickly lowered herself down to the sidewalk below. Once again, she looked around. She saw no one.

She moved quickly, but silently, along the edge of the building. She moved around the east wing of the museum and headed for the alley. From there she could climb up a fire escape and across the rooftops to safety.

Just as she reached the entrance to the alley, she sensed more than saw the movement in front of her. Batman landed in front of her. He blocked her access to the fire escape and her escape. She didn't wait for him say or do anything, she simply struck out.

First, she swiped her clawed fingertips at his face. He blocked the move and the claws only scraped across the Kevlar forearm guard of his left gauntlet. She next tried a roundhouse kick to the kidney and then followed with a throat jab. Batman easily feinted both moves, but the movement allowed Catwoman to change positions relative to the fire escape. If she made just the right move, she could squeeze past him and would reach the fire escape. Whether she could out climb him was another thing.

She smiled at him. "Hello, lover," she said, her voice a throaty purr. "Fancy meeting you here."

"There's nothing fancy about it. I knew you couldn't pass up the 'Lion's Soul'," Batman said. He moved toward her as he talked. "You're just too predictable."

"Predict this, asshole," she said, driving the steel-tipped heel of her boot into his right kneecap. She didn't wait to see the reaction; she turned and jumped for the fire escape.

Batman tried to ignore the blazing pain in his right knee. The kick had caught him right under the kneecap, on the thick band of tendon leading down to his shin. Limping, he moved after her. He jumped to reach the bottom rung of the fire escape. Catwoman was already several rungs beyond his reach. The climb up was agony, but he pushed on, baring the bulk of his weight on his uninjured leg. Just before Catwoman reached the top of the ladder, Batman made one last desperate grab for one of her ankles. If she got over the top of the ladder, he would probably lose her.

Instead of grabbing her ankles, his gloved hand managed only to catch the tail of her costume. He pulled hard on the tail, hoping it would throw her off enough to give him the second chance he needed to catch one of her ankles. She grunted at the effort to hold on. Momentarily, the two were held in place. Batman pulling, Catwoman clinging with both hands to the guide rails of the fire escape.

With a rip, the tail came off. With a gapping hole in the seat of her costume, Catwoman vaulted over the top of the ladder. Batman had pulled hard on the tail and lost his step when the resistance disappeared. The foot of this good leg slipped off the rung and he involuntarily put all of this weight on the injured knee. Under his cowl, he broke out in a sweat from the pain. He momentarily saw spots before his eyes.

The Catwoman ran across the roof, fearful that Batman was right behind her. She waited for the tackle. The last time they had met on the rooftops, he had brought her down with a flying tackle worthy of any NFL linebacker. She had fallen with most of his weight and all of her own on her hip. It had been black and blue for almost two weeks.

She reached the edge of the roof and started down the fire escape on the opposite side of the building. She noticed a cold shiver up her back. She didn't hear him coming after her. Had he fallen when the tail of her costume came off in his hand? she wondered. A momentary flash of regret passed through her thoughts as she reached the ground. Catwoman ran up the alley and across a nearly deserted street. She continued up the alley. She didn't hear any footsteps behind her. Batman could be very quiet when he wanted, but running full out like this it was hard to be quiet. She risked a look over her shoulder. There was no one following her.

She ran another several blocks and then slowed down slightly. It was just beginning to rain. Catwoman hated the rain. Selina liked to curl up on the couch with her pets around her and read a good book when it rained. She didn't like to go out in it. The rain felt cold on her back. She reached around and felt her lower back. She felt bare skin. The seam up the back of her costume was split open.

He pulled off my tail, she thought. The bastard pulled off my tail! She was aware that he had grabbed her on the ladder, but due to the choking fear she experienced at being chased, it only now began to sink in. Her costume was ruined!

She decided that Batman was no longer following her. She was out of breath and needed a rest. Selina decided to duck behind a dumpster and rest. She stopped and took one look back. Still no one. She tried to pull a dumpster out from the wall. It budged only a little bit, but it was enough. She slid behind it and crouched behind it. The overhang of the building sheltered her from the rain. Selina pulled off the costume's cowl with the pointed cat ears. She stared at the cowl as she thought. I'll rest and then head home when the rain let up, she thought to herself.

* * *

The knee still hurt like hell, but Batman continued. He moved along the top of the buildings parallel to the alley. He could hear Catwoman's footsteps ring out as she ran up the alleyway. The narrow sides of the alley caused her footsteps to echo as the sound rose up to roof level.

He almost lost sight of her. She was a fast runner, but he doubted that she was in anything near his level of condition. She would tire eventually and he'd catch her. Even with a sore knee, Batman could out pace her over the longer distance. He halted for a few seconds. He looked up the alley to where the sounds were coming from. The footsteps slowed and finally stopped. She must be resting, he thought.

Batman moved along the rooftop. The next time he looked, he caught only a brief glimpse of something light near a dumpster about half a block up the alley. He didn't know what to make of it. Catwoman's costume was mostly dark purple, not as dark as his own cape, but still, she blended into the dark almost as much as he did. He stopped and lowered himself to the ground with a length of rope. He didn't rappel down the side of the building like he normally did. He gave his knee a brief respite by lowering himself down the rope hand over hand.

He cautiously approached the dumpster. Bracing himself with his good leg, he jerked the heavy trash container back from the wall. Catwoman looked up in surprise. He was the one that moved quickly this time. With his knee hurting, he wasn't in any mood to be gentle. He caught her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet. He twisted the arm behind her and stepped close to her. He held her close to him so that she couldn't get any purchase and try to kick him.

Catwoman was yelling at him as she stomped downward at the instep of his feet. He pulled up on her arm and she stopped, giving him several last struggling kicks. The steel plate embedded across the top of his boot prevented her from doing any damage this time.

She eventually relaxed to take the pressure off her arm. He relaxed the hold slightly to reach for the quick-cuffs he had in his belt. Batman wrapped one end of the quick-cuffs around her wrist and then grabbed for her other arm. She swung it wide, but he gripped her shoulder and slid his hand down her arm until he had hold of her free wrist. He placed the quick cuffs over the other wrist and pulled them tight.

At this point, it appeared that she gave up. She stopped struggling and stood quiet. A police siren pierced the night as a patrol car pulled into the far end of the alley.

"They broke up the party," she said. She wiggled her butt into his groin. He stepped back and held her shoulder firmly in one hand. She stopped the seductive movement of her hips as the patrol car stopped in front of the dumpster.

"We heard the silent alarm from the museum," one of the police officers said, as she got out of the passenger side of the patrol car. "I thought you might be involved, Batman."

"Officer Montoya," he said in terse greeting. The female cop nodded in return.

The other police officer got out from the driver's side. Batman didn't recognize the young rookie. He was a tall, slender man with a bright red moustache. A thatch of unruly red hair threatened to escape from under his policeman's hat. His name badge read "Barron."

"I believe you'll find the missing jewels in here," Batman said as he handed Catwoman over to Officer Montoya and her satchel to the rookie.

Batman noticed now that the back of Catwoman's costume was almost completely gone. When the tail had come off, the seam up the back of the costume had come apart. Catwoman's back from shoulder blades to buttocks was exposed. He noted that her underwear had a floral pattern. He realized that her bare skin was the lightness that he spotted. He might never have spotted her and she would have gotten away, but for the large rip in her catsuit.

The rookie cop noticed too. He stepped forward, eyeing Catwoman from head to toe. His glance lingered on her exposed backside. Selina's black hair was wet from perspiration and was getting wetter from the rain. "So this is the infamous Catwoman," Officer Barron said. "Well, a little pussy never hurt anyone."

The rookie started to laugh at his innuendo when he caught Batman's stare. The look in the caped man's eyes was enough to freeze the rookie's soul. He noticed that his partner was looking at him also, a scorn across her face. The only one who didn't react was Selina. She stood quiet with her head hung low.

"Get me something to cover her with," Montoya snapped. Officer Barron reluctantly rushed to the car and returned a few seconds later with a standard issue yellow police rain slicker.

Officer Montoya draped the rain coat over Catwoman's shoulders, and lead her to the back of the patrol car. Selina allowed herself to be pushed into the seat. Just before turned to leave, Batman stood for a moment to look at Catwoman. She looked up, out the window of the police car. The defeat in her eyes was a marked contrast to the fire and spirit that was in them during their fight. In the reflected red and blue of the patrol car's flashing lights, the master cat burglar looked more like a stray kitten caught out in the rain.

* * *

The entrance to the cave was hidden in a thicket of trees and bushes, far from the main road to the mansion. Sophisticated electronic sensors and video cameras worthy of any military installation guarded the entrance.

In the car, Batman pressed an unmarked button on the dash and the bushes parted. Behind the cover of the bushes, a steel door slide open. He drove into the darkness and the door slide shut behind him. The tunnel to the main part of the caverns was about a quarter of a mile. As he slowed down, Batman reached up with one gloved hand and pulled back the cowl. Bruce Wayne's face appeared from under the mask.

Parking the car next to its exact duplicate, Bruce emerged from the sleek black automobile. To the untrained eye, it was simply an expensive, sports car. The dark windshield and diplomatic license plates told the official observer that the person driving the car wanted privacy. Under their unassuming exteriors, the two cars were extraordinary machines. Bruce had hand-assembled the pair from only the best materials.

The caverns stretched for miles under the limestone bedrock. A much younger Bruce had discovered them while having the mansion remodeled. The largest portion of the cave lay directly below the west wing of the mansion. When he had decided to pursue his nighttime career, he decided to expand his operations into the quiet darkness of the cave. He then took his name and identify from the winged mammals he found living there.

Using foreign labor that he had recruited secretly, he had parts of the cave walled off into working space. At first glance, a visitor might think they had walked into the typical, high-tech office building, albeit an austere one. There was a large computer room with raised floor, offices for himself and Alfred, even a guest suite. The large indoor swimming pool was next to a gymnasium that even Arnold Schwarzenegger would be proud of. The library was small; most of the reference materials were digitized and indexed in the computer system. Computer terminals dotted the offices, the library and even the machine shop and garage. Portable "pocket PCs" were scattered throughout the cave, linked to the main computer system by radio modems.

To reach the mansion, a person had to pass through a short corridor. At each end of the corridor was a locked steel security door, each with its own combination. Alfred was the only other person to have knowledge of the combinations that opened the doors.

Bruce walked slowly down the main hallway, limping ever so slightly from the sore knee. He stopped in his office to check his computer systems. The large desk was covered with file folders and computer printouts. Computer floppy disks were stacked in neat piles next to each computer. Alfred had obvious straightened up today.

He checked first one system, then the next. On the desk were several different makes of computers, both personal computers and mini- computer workstations. The Power Macintosh had finished plotting the newest crime maps of Gotham that he had started before heading out for the night. The WayneTech PC-clone indicated that Bruce Wayne had several new e-mail messages. These had been routed from his office at Wayne Enterprises to his PC upstairs in the mansion. The mansion's internal computer system, a WayneTech minicomputer file server, relayed them to the downstairs office. The several Unix workstations were momentarily idle, as were the various mainframe systems elsewhere in the cave.

He next stopped in the dressing room next to the office. There, he stored his work costume and equipment. With a weary sigh, he unfastened the cape and laid the cape and cowl on the dressing table. As he undressed, he talked. The microphone on the wall intercom captured his debriefing. Alfred would later transcribe it into the computerized journal.

The cape might seem unwieldy, but actually served a useful purpose. The cape was made of a light-weight Kevlar fabric. It was light enough to catch the slightest breeze or movement. With the voluminous cape swirling around him, his true outline was disguised. More times than he could remember, he had been shot at, but usually the bullet missed him. The shooter never really knew where his body was under the cape. In tense moments, criminals tended to act first and think second. Most of the time they aimed for the first thing that caught their attention, the moving cape.

The cowl was slightly padded. This served two purposes. First, it was some small amount of protection. Second, it disguised the shape of his head. The long ears on the cowl made Batman look even taller than he was, which tended to have an intimidating effect.

Under the cape, Bruce wore a dark gray bodysuit, also of light-weight Kevlar. It was light enough to not impede his movement, but heavy enough to blunt the scrapes and cuts that usually resulted in his climbing about on fire escapes and rooftops. When he had first started his nighttime adventures, he had made the suit out of leather. He reasoned that bikers wore leather pants and jackets to prevent scrapes and cuts in the event of a spill. But, the heavy leather proved to be too hot most the time.

The bat insignia on his chest had a purpose also. It was intentionally meant as a target. It tended to the first thing his opponents saw, thus it was the what they aimed at. Underneath the insignia, there was a chest plate of heavy Kevlar composite that would stop almost any bullet. If he was going to take a bullet, Bruce would rather have it hit his heavily armored chest than his unprotected head.

The gauntlets he wore over his hands reached almost all the way to the elbow and had solid Kevlar composite along the outside of the forearm. This was useful for blocking blows and ramming doors. The rest of each gauntlet, with the exception of the palms, was heavy black leather. The palms were a lighter leather, suitable for fine finger movements. A patch of fine chain mail protected his palms from such things as knife blades. The chain mail was the same as the protective metal gloves butchers and packing plant workers wore. A molded, high-strength plastic knuckle guard completed each gauntlet.

A self-winding Swiss chronometer rested in a molded compartment in the left gauntlet. A velco flap allowed the face of the chronometer to be exposed when Batman needed to know what time it was. Otherwise, it remained hidden so that the glint of light off the watch crystal wouldn't give away his position.

A remote microphone for his radio was in a similar compartment in the right gauntlet.

As he removed the gauntlets, Bruce noticed the scratches on the left one. The scratches were from Catwoman's claws. Better the armored forearm guard than my face, he thought.

His boots were of similar construction. They had Kevlar composite shin guards and steel toe and instep protection. The thick rubber soles were reinforced with steel plates. The tops of the boots reached up to the thickest part of his calves, providing excellent support for his ankles.

He unbuckled the heavy leather belt and laid it out on the table. It had a number of compartments, each a different size. He quickly took stock of the contents of the many compartments and replaced the missing items from the supply cabinet above the table. Just as a police officer would clean his or her gun immediately after using it, Batman restocked the supplies in his belt and the various pockets of his bodysuit.

The belt contained a miniature two-way radio that supported complex encryption codes and could control most of the systems in the car by remote control, a electronic compass with GPS and digital map of Gotham, a number of plastic quick-cuffs, a set of lock picks and assorted wires and clips for bypassing out alarm systems, several concentrated food bars, a personal first aid kit, a supply of painkillers and stimulants, a "Leatherman"-type multi-tool with knife, saw, various tool blades, and pliers/wirecutter, and a flashlight.

One compartment contained a supply of various small and large denomination money. He had both American and foreign money. He sometimes used the money to buy emergency supplies and to pay for information from street informants. He also had a couple gold and platinum coins and bars--some of the people he dealt with preferred hard currency. And he never knew when a JLA mission might take him outside the US.

The last compartment of the belt contained a miniaturized pair of night-vision goggles.

A holster that hung from the belt contained a spring loaded cable launcher with grappling hook.

Small compartments in the arms and legs of the body suit contained small bat-shaped throwing stars and various smoke and stick bombs.

He replaced the batteries in the electronic devices and examined each device for signs of wear or damage. Anything that wasn't perfect was replaced. Batman couldn't take a chance with something that might break; his life and those of the people he protected depended upon the flawless function of each device.

The re-supply work complete, he removed the black shorts that he wore. They were also made of a Kevlar fabric to protect his groin area. He next unfastened the bottoms of the bodysuit from the top and pulled each off. Under the bodysuit, he wore a back brace, similar to the weight lifting belts body builders wore. Lastly, he removed the jock strap and metal cup he wore.

Completely undressed, he throw the sweat-soaked clothes into the hamper and hung the remaining items up in the closets that surrounded the dressing table. There were already several of each item hanging in the closets. Bruce was not the type of person to rely on only one of anything.

Although he often dressed in a hurry, he always tried to undress at a leisurely pace. It allowed him time to think about the night's events and take stock of his equipment and his physical condition. The routine had become almost a ritual.

The next part of the routine was to take a long, hot shower and do some gentle limbering exercises. His big workout would come after breakfast. When he had time, he also tried to fit in a quick, warm-up workout before hitting the streets at night.

For now, he was showered and relaxed. He slipped into a bathrobe with the Wayne family crest on the breast and headed upstairs. He would have a light snack and drink several glasses of water to replenish the fluids he'd lost through his exertions. This morning he made it to his bedroom just as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon. He closed the thick velvet curtains and retired to the bed. As usual, he was asleep almost instantly.

* * *

Officers Montoya and Barron headed back to precinct headquarters with Selina Kyle, Catwoman, in the back of their cruiser. Montoya turned around to look at the master cat burglar.

Catwoman was slumped down in the back seat of the police cruiser, her hands handcuffed behind her. She sensed rather than saw the female police officer turn around. Right now, Selina was playing possum.

"You okay?" Montoya asked. Although she tried to keep her attitude professional, the cop couldn't help feeling sorry for the other woman. Catwoman had looked so pitiful, wet and with a large and embarrassing tear in her costume, when they had taken possession of the suspect from the Batman.

Montoya had seen the Batman take down drug-crazed male criminals nearly twice his size; she knew that he was more than a match for a woman who was merely a cat burglar.

"You okay?" she asked again. Catwoman didn't answer.

"Something wrong?" Officer Barron asked.

"I don't think so," Montoya answered. The police officer turned a little more and watched their prisoner closer for a few minutes.

As Barron turned the cruiser from South Main onto Broadway, Montoya watched as their prisoner slide across the seat from the centrifugal force of the turn.

"Pull over," Montoya said.

"What?"

"I think she's unconscious," Montoya said.

"She's just acting," Barron said.

"Maybe," Mallory responded. "Maybe she bumped her head or something. Batman can be pretty rough sometimes."

"Okay, okay," the rookie cop said. Barron pulled up to the curb and stopped the cruiser.

"Be careful," he said.

"I will," Montoya answered as she opened her door and got out of the cruiser. She opened the back door and looked in on their prisoner.

"Come on, sit up," she ordered the seemingly unconscious woman.

No response.

"Catwoman. Ms. Kyle," Montoya ordered, "Please sit up."

Still no response.

Montoya leaned in to shake the other woman. Before she could react, Selina Kyle kicked Montoya across the face. Montoya's head jerked backward from the kick and hit the door frame of the cruiser.

"Oh, shit," Barron said, scrambling to unbuckle his seat belt. By the time he got out of the car and pulled his gun, Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, was gone. He assumed that she had run down the alley, and started to run around the car to pursue her.

"Ohhh," Montoya moaned, as she lay on the ground beside the parked cruiser.

Officer Barron hesitated for a moment, worried about his partner. By the time he turned back to the alley, Catwoman was gone.

* * *


	3. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 3

### An unassuming flat, off the King's Road in Chelsea, outside London

James Bond awake at his normal hour. He could smell the scent of fresh brewed coffee as it wafted up from the kitchen. His housekeeper, Mae, was in today and had already fixed breakfast.

Bond stretched and then got out of his bed. He headed to the bathroom and quickly showered, shaved, and dressed. Under his suit jacket, he wore a standard issue shoulder harness and a Walther PPK 7.65 mm pistol.

With one last look in the mirror, Bond ran a hand through his hair. There was the slightest hint of gray at his temples. Otherwise, his short hair was jet black, with a thick black comma that fell over his right eyebrow. The face that looked back at him was marred only by the faint scar on his right cheek. His long straight nose seemed to match the wide, thin mouth. The most noticeable feature was the piercing blue-gray eyes.

* * *

### An office building along the Thames, later that morning

Bond arrived at his office at his normal time.

To his few casual friends, he was an ex-Royal Navy officer, now toiling in the endless bureaucracy of the British government. In actuality, he was an anachronism; a cold war soldier with no war to fight. He was a spy and assassin in the service of Her Majesty. He worked for the British Secret Intelligence Service.

His office was in the high-security office by the Thames. Once, the SIS had hidden behind various fronts, including that of the Universal Export Company. This was back when it was known as MI6. Military Intelligence Department 6. Now know as simply the British Secret Intelligence Service, the organization was tasked with defending the Empire from threats from foreign countries and terrorist groups.

Once, Bond had taken on, and defeated, foes from such organizations as SMERSH and SPECTRE. But now he mostly read reports and wrote even more reports.

Today, for example, he had to review the reports from NATO on the situation in Bosnia and reports from the Americans on the situation in Iraq. Then, he had to summarize the reports in his own report to the department head and provide "expert" advice on what Great Britain should do regarding both situations.

An hour into the report reading, Bond shifted in his chair just as his phone rang. He answered it. It was Moneypenny, M's executive assistant. In the old days he would have called her a secretary.

"She needs to see you, James," Moneypenny said.

"It'll give me a chance to see you," Bond teased.

"You know it's always a pleasure," Moneypenny teased back. This was a game the two had played now for many years. Moneypenny had long ago given up hope that Bond would carry through with his amorous promises.

"I'll be right up," Bond said and replaced the receiver on the phone.

Moneypenny was on the phone when Bond stepped into her office. She waved him on into M's office. The light above the door was not lit; no major crisis was at hand. When lit, the red light served to remind those entering the office that they might hear or see sensitive information that was not meant to leave that office.

Bond knocked on the closed door.

"Come," said a female voice from inside the office.

Bond turned the knob and pushed the door open. The office was no longer decorated in the dark hardwoods and nautical motif of the former occupant. Now, it looked like any other career bureaucrat's office.

Bond closed the door behind him. The older woman behind the large desk looked up and acknowledged his presence with a nod.

He took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and waited patiently for the steel-haired woman to finish reading the memo in her hand.

"James," she said when she finished. She used his Christian name, not his official code designation. This meant that whatever chore she had for him didn't involve national security or a world-threatening crisis.

M handed him the memo she had just read. As she did so, Bond noticed the Royal crest on the letterhead. It was from Her Majesty. A closer look proved the point; the Queen's diminutive and feminine signature was affixed at the bottom of the document.

"You've heard about the auction in New York to benefit the Princess Diana Charities?"

"Yes."

"Well, we want to make sure it goes off without any difficulties," M explained. "After the Princess's death last summer, the Crown is obviously sensitive to problems that might occur."

Bond nodded.

M continued, "One of the auction items is a gemstone, called 'the Lion's Soul'. This gem comes from the Princess's private collection. Prince William specifically asked that it be donated in honor of his mother. There has already been one robbery attempt."

"Yes," Bond said. "I read the report. One of those costumed 'super- criminals' the Americans seem so plagued with."

M nodded. "Your job, 007, will be to prevent any further attempts until after the Charities has auctioned it."

M had finally used his Double-O designation. That meant this was considered a serious mission after all. Not exactly the type of thing they usually called Bond out for, but serious nevertheless.

"Yes, ma'am," Bond responded. "And if it's stolen after the auction?"

"Then that will be the American's problem. We're only worried about it until then."

M went back to reading from the large pile of documents on her desk. Bond took this as his clue to be dismissed.

He went outside the office and stopped at Moneypenny's desk. "Penny, do you have anything for me?"

"Why, James, is that another of your lame come-ons?" Moneypenny teased.

"Lame?" Bond questioned, pretending to be offended.

"Well, actually, I do have the folder on the Princess Diana Charities and the New York auction." She handed him two folders. He glanced through them quickly. He saw that the auction was being held by Sotheby's, an auction house renowned for handling such events. They had previously held the auction for Andy Warhol's estate, as well as that of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

"You know, Penny, you could accompany me to New York. It's strictly a diplomatic mission this time. Not a chance of any danger."

"Oh, James, you promise and promise..." She sighed. "But some of us have real work to do."

"'Real work'?" Bond asked.

"We can't all be jet-setting around the world on the company dole," Penny said.

"Last chance, Penny?"

"No thanks, James. She has way too much for me to do," Moneypenny said, nodding toward M's office. "You will take good care of yourself?"

"I never get into any trouble," Bond said, trying to look innocent.

"I know very well what you 'get into'" she retorted.

Bond smiled and gave the boss's secretary a quick kiss.

"Be sure to read those reports," Moneypenny said. "And stop by Q Branch!" she called after Bond as he sauntered down the hall.

* * *

Q Branch was located in an isolated sub-basement of the building. Technically it was the armory for the SIS. Bond liked to think of it as his personal toy store.

As he walked through the door, a tall, thin man with a wild head of white hair looked up at the noise and walked toward Bond. He was Major Boothroyd, SIS' Armourer and head of Q Branch. "Good to see you, 007," the Major said.

"Major," Bond said, nodding slightly.

"I understand you're currently engaged in a...well..., more diplomatic mission than normal."

Bond didn't answer. He missed the excitement of his 'normal' missions.

"Oh, well, yes," the Boothroyd said. He walked over to a table. "Considering your proclivity for getting into trouble, even on diplomatic missions, we want to make sure you're fully equipped."

"Why does everyone around here think I get into trouble?" Bond asked. He didn't get into any more "trouble" than any of the other Double-Os. All of the agents in that elite category tended to work on only the most sensitive and dangerous missions.

The Major ignored Bond's question and handed Bond a small rectangular box.

Bond turned it over in his hands and found a small catch. A cover swung up, revealing a small computer screen. It was one of those newfangled "personal digital assistants." "I've never been much for computers," Bond said.

"This is one of the new Palm Pilot personal computers," the Major explained. "All the top executives in America use them to track their appointments."

"I thought that was why I had a personal assistant?" Bond said, thinking about the young Ms Helena Marksbury, his secretary, nee personal assistant in the new "politically correct" terminology.

Boothroyd took the device from Bond with a huff. "Pay attention, 007, this could save your life someday."

Boothroyd slide the small plastic stylus from the side of the device. He showed Bond how to use the small computer. The stylus allowed the user to write directly on the surface of the screen. Whatever was written was either translated into text or was captured as "digital ink." Bond decided the gadget might be useful after all for jotting down codes and various notes, or even a young lady's telephone number.

"Unlike the standard commercial version, we've added some nice features," Boothroyd explained. He showed Bond a specific page on the electronic screen. The appointment said "Meet Bob for Lunch."

"Go to this appointment, and use the stylus to enter this code," Boothroyd explained. After entering a complex code, the screen on the gadget changed from an appointment to a GPS display. "We've built in a military quality Global Positioning System receiver. It will tell your correct position to within 20 to 30 meters."

Bond nodded.

"You'll never get lost again, 007. This GPS is also tied to a world wide atlas," the Major explained, touching the icon on the screen that looked like a tiny globe. A map of the surrounding area was quickly displayed on the screen. Although the size of the screen was a hindrance, Bond saw that you could easily scroll the map with the stylus.

"I never get lost," Bond exclaimed.

The Major then turned the device over and unfastened the cover from the battery compartment. Inside the battery compartment was a tiny wire latch. Boothroyd showed Bond how to trip the latch. A tiny window on the backside of the device became visible.

"There's a camera built in," the major said.

Boothroyd held the Palm Pilot about a foot above the surface of a work table. A newspaper was resting on the table. Boothroyd then took the stylus and touched the notepad icon once and the magnifying glass icon (for the "Find" function) twice.

"Wait three seconds," the major said. He waited. His lips trembled slightly as he counted to himself. He then showed the tiny screen of the device to Bond. An image of the newspaper print was on the screen.

"The image is stored in memory. The camera is fixed focus, from about one foot out up. You can take a picture of anything, but if you take an image of text, you can read it later. There's even an optical character recognition program built in," Boothroyd explained. "Once the text is captured, it can be translated into other languages or even encrypted or decrypted."

Boothroyd then touched the envelope icon. "And this is the e-mail program. You can send anyone at SIS a secure message. We can also send you messages. You never know when we might have to order you home, 007."

"But I don't have to *read* the messages," Bond pointed out.

He took the device from the Armourer, closed it up, and slide it into his inside suit pocket. "Anything else?"

"Well, yes." Boothroyd next handed Bond a pen. It looked like a standard ballpoint pen, if a bit thicker than usual.

The Armourer took the pen and clicked it once. The writing point of the pen appeared. He clicked it again and a felt-tip marker appeared.

"Just the thing for highlighting the good parts of 'Lady Chatterly's Lover'," Bond quipped.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, 007," Major Boothroyd warned. "When you have the marker extended, you can twist the top clockwise to ignite a chemically powered laser. It'll only last for about 15 seconds, and can only be used once. But you might find it helpful." He clicked the pen again to retract the marker tip and gave it back to Bond.

"Oh, and did you ever get me that new Walther?" Bond asked.

"We've been trying to get you to stop using that PPK for years and now we can't get you to stop bugging me about the P99," the Major exclaimed.

Bond shrugged.

"No, 007, we haven't cleared the P99 for service yet. I can get you a very nice Glock..."

"No thanks," Bond said, cutting the older man off.

"The Glock is cleared for service and works very similar to the P99," Boothroyd explained. "And I can equip you with a Glock model in any caliber from 9mm short to .45."

Bond patted the side of his suit jacket, under his left arm, where the PPK rested in its shoulder harness. "Thanks, but I'll stick to what I know. The Glock is just too fat."

Boothroyd wanted to explain that the smaller model Glocks were smaller than the new Walther model, but knew that Bond's mind couldn't be changed. In his many years in the Service, the Major had dealt with the various peculiarities of each of the Double-Os. Bond was about as stubborn as anyone could get where his weapon was concerned.

"Have it your way, 007." The Armourer threw up his hands in mock defeat

* * *

Bond was on a British Airways flight to New York before evening fell. The plane was flying west via a circular route over Iceland and Greenland, and actually kept pace with the sun. It was nearly the same local time in New York upon arrival that it had been in London upon departure.

Usually when he traveled, Bond used various aliases to cover his covert missions. This time, however, he was traveling as himself. He used his diplomatic and law enforcement credentials to bypass the normal Immigration inspection. As soon as he flashed his credentials, the Federal agents and airport police manning the security checkpoint treated him as one of their own.

A quick cab ride into Manhattan and his trip was over.

Bond settled into the Four Seasons hotel. The SIS Chief of Staff, Bill Tanner, had balked when Bond had requested the hotel. But Tanner had acquiesced to keep one of his top agents happy. After all, Bond did not much like being what amounted to a glorified security guard on this mission.

The hotel was on East 57th Street, between Park Avenue and Madison Avenue. It was the tallest hotel in New York City, with a total of 52 floors. Bond's room on the 20th floor had a splendid view of Central Park to the northwest.

Anticipating a long, but tedious day ahead, Bond dined in the hotel's excellent 5757 restaurant and prepared to turn in for the night.

Before slipping into bed, Bond took out his PPK and cleaned it. It wasn't dirty and hadn't been fired in several days. He'd last used it during weekly firearms practice several days ago. He'd cleaned it after the practice session.

He cleaned the gun now because it was a ritual. A way of calming himself and focusing on his job, regardless of how boring he felt it was.

In fact, this mission had no call for a weapon. But Bond knew from long experience that every mission could change at a moment's notice. And he preferred to be prepared for anything. Besides, he felt naked without the PPK tucked under his arm.

On the trip across the Atlantic, the weapon had ridden undetected in an x- ray proof hidden compartment inside his briefcase. After exiting the plane and moving through Customs, Bond had put on the shoulder harness and transferred the gun to its rightful place.

He slid the Walther PPK from his shoulder harness. He laid a towel out on the desktop of small desk beside the bed and placed the gun on top of the towel. He then retrieved a small plastic brush, a gun rag, and a small squeeze bottle of gun oil from the hidden compartment of his briefcase.

The PPK was a small weapon. It fit neatly in Bond's hands; almost to the point of being partially hidden in his large hands. Bond's weapon was the stainless steel version of the gun. It fired 7.65 mm cartridges. In the United States, this particular round was called the .32 automatic.

As an agent for the United Kingdom's Secret Intelligence Service Bond had his choice of any standard handgun. He preferred the small Walther and its "anemic" bullet for one reason. It was easy to hide and could be carried almost anywhere. Bond's job called for him to occasionally kill people, if necessary, for national defense. In those instances, he preferred to kill close up. The small caliber was well suited for this. The gun was concealable and even a tiny .22 could kill when the muzzle of the gun was pressed firmly to the victim's skill.

Pressing the magazine release button on the left-hand side of the gun, right behind the trigger, Bond ejected the seven-round magazine. He laid it down on the towel. Normally, the PPK used magazines with small plastic grip extensions on the end. These extensions made the grip of the gun about one quarter inch longer. Bond preferred the smaller size of the gun without the magazine extensions.

He then pulled the slide back and ejected the single round in the chamber. It fell to the desktop and Bond laid it aside.

Bond used Teflon-coated, armor-piercing rounds. Contrary to popular opinion, the Teflon coating was not what made the round so deadly.

The Teflon only helped lubricate the bullet as it passed through the barrel. What made this round so deadly was that the bullet was made from brass and not the normal lead. Lead was soft and would deform when it penetrated. The harder brass, the same material used for the shell of the round, deformed less when fired through a tire or windshield, or though a "bullet-proof" vest. Granted, the .32 was low-powered and wasn't the first choice for taking out someone through body armor, but using the armor- piercing rounds helped.

With the slide pulled back, Bond then looked in the chamber. Although he knew the round that was just in the gun was out, he always practiced thorough gun safety. More than anyone, he knew just what sort of harm a gun could do.

He then slide a finger into the trigger guard and pulled down. The front edge of the trigger guard slipped down out of the frame of the gun. Using the forefinger of his other hand, he pushed the trigger guard slightly to the side and held it there.

Using his free hand, he then pulled back on the slide. The slide moved back further than normal with the block formed by the top of the trigger guard gone. He then tipped the back of the slide up and it came clear of the frame rails.

Moving the slide forward removed it entirely from the frame; leaving the barrel exposed at the top front of the frame. A stout coil spring, the recoil spring, circled the barrel.

First, he used the brush through the barrel. Then, he wiped the entire gun and its various exposed internal parts clean with the gun rag. Solvent wasn't necessary; the gun was already clean. He then applied a tiny amount of oil on the sliding portions of the frame and slide and reassembled the gun.

The "cleaning" complete, Bond placed the magazine in the gun and pulled back the slide to chamber a round. He then ejected the magazine and topped it off with the round that had previously been in the gun's chamber. The magazine held seven rounds. With a round in the chamber and seven in the magazine, he had a total of eight rounds of fire before needing to change magazines. In Bond's hands, eight rounds was enough to take out six or maybe even seven men at close range. If only some larger men didn't require two rounds, a "double-tap," he'd probably be able to off a full eight men at distances less than 15 yards.

Bond seldom missed what he aimed for.

He then slid the magazine into the gun. On the back of the slide, on the left side, was a small lever. The level moved in a 90-degree arc, from horizontal with the slide to vertical. Right now, the lever was horizontal. A large red dot indicated that the gun was ready to fire.

Bond was careful to keep his fingers from anywhere near the trigger. He placed his thumb on the lever at the back of the slide and moved it down to the vertical position. His did two things: it placed the gun on "safety" and "decocked" the hammer without firing the gun. With the safety on, the trigger could be pulled without firing the gun.

He placed the gun back in the shoulder harness and replaced the cleaning supplies in the hidden compartment of the briefcase.

This done, Bond removed his clothes and climbed into the large king-sized bed.

Tomorrow he'd be reviewing the security at the auction house. He would be reviewing all of the security systems, as well as the personnel involved. His last thought before drifting into slumber was: Hope I don't run into any of those costumed American crazies.

* * *


	4. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 4

### The city room of the Daily Planet, Metropolis

Lois Lane looked around. Her husband, Clark Kent, was nowhere to be found. He must be off on a story, she thought. She knew he was covering the newest round of LexCorp layoffs.

LexCorp was one of Metropolis' largest employers. Like many multinational corporations, LexCorp was going through a rough time. Global competition was increasing. Some companies found ways to be innovative or unique. Others remained economical by trimming unprofitable subsidiaries or reducing staff. Apparently, Lex Luther, LexCorp's founder and chief executive officer, was opting for the latter.

Lois stared at the computer screen. Her story on the latest round of police corruption trials just wasn't coming together. Although Metropolis didn't have Gotham City's reputation, police corruption was becoming a routine story and she didn't have any new ideas on how to make this story special. She racked her brain to come up with some unique angle for this story.

She was lost in thought as a familiar presence hovered over her for a moment. Lois saw Clark's reflection in the computer screen and she smiled. There were, after all, still newlyweds.

"Hi," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed them and kneaded the tension from her muscles.

"Hi," she responded, looking up.

Clark then leaned down and gave Lois a quick kiss on the mouth. Working couples were still something new in old-style companies like the Planet and Clark didn't want to buck the trend by being obvious.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, Clark suddenly got up from his desk and hurried out of the office. Lois' desk faced his and she looked up at her husband's quick departure. She cocked her head and looked out from behind her computer screen as she saw him slip through the large double doors that lead into the city room. She silently wished him well.

Everyone else in the city room assumed that Clark had just taken a phone call from an informant and was heading off on a story. Or maybe his lunch hadn't agreed with him and he had to run to the restroom.

In reality, Clark hurried past the elevators and to the connecting hallway on the other side. It was near the supply closet and Clark sometimes used that as an excuse. If anyone questioned him being here, he claimed he was just looking for paper clips.

He looked around. With no one around to see, Clark opened the door to the stairwell and headed up the stairs. He moved so fast that his feet barely touched the stairs.

At the roof-level, he stopped to make sure no one was sightseeing on the roof. It was common for stressed out reporters to escape to the roof for a breath of fresh air and to chill out. High above the roof, the trade-mark bronze globe of the Daily Planet towered over Clark's head.

He listened and looked around. No one was up on the roof at that moment. He moved to the small space between the stairwell and the base of the globe. This spot was visible from only one direction and there were no taller buildings in that direction.

Quickly, he removed his clothes. He then pulled a large brick out from the side of the stairwell and stashed his clothes into a hidden hollow behind the brick. He replaced the brick, ran for the edge of the roof and jumped.

Clark Kent didn't fall twenty stories to his death. But Superman did head into the sky. He banked to the west and headed for Hobb's Bay.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, after stopping a bank robbery and assisting firemen fight a warehouse fire on the Metropolis waterfront, Superman flew across the sky of downtown Metropolis.

His red cape fluttered in the wind as he moved through the sky. The rest of his costume was a blue skintight bodysuit with red trunks. A yellow belt circled his waist. Red boots covered his feet and calves. A red pentagon covered his broad chest, with a stylized "S" within the border of the shield. Yellow accents filled the spaces between the letter and the border.

Superman slowly scanned side to side as he flew. He was looking over the city to see if there were any other activities that required his attention. His thick, black hair barely moved in the wind created by his flight, but occasionally, the "S" shaped cowlick hanging over his forehead fluttered. He usually brushed the cowlick back as Clark, but he let it fall forward when he was Superman.

Superman flew slowly, with his head held high and his arms extended from his sides. When he had to get somewhere quickly, he tended to hold his arms out in front of himself, but there were times when he just enjoyed floating above the world, enjoying the sun and fresh air. Clark had already filed his story for the day; so Superman could take the long way home.

A memory flashed through his mind. He remembered the time he and Pete Ross played "fighter pilots" as kids. They were probably only about 7 or 8 at the time. They ran around the Kent farm, arms extended, making "rat-a- tat-tat" noises as they pretended to be planes shooting each other.

A smile spread over Superman's face as he remembered the childhood memory. Who would have known then that someday little Clark Kent would have grown up to become Superman and would routinely fly, really fly, with his arms extended just as they had been as a kid.

He drifted high above the Daily Planet building. He looked down and scanned for people on the roof of the building and on the roofs of the buildings nearby.

He made out one person on the Planet building, behind the stairwell. Contrary to urban legend, his "x-ray" vision didn't allow him to look transparently through solid objects. Nor did he project x-rays from his eyes.

His eyes were simply sensitive to a wider bandwidth of light and radiation than human eyes. He could sometimes make out objects because of the reflected or transmitted background radiation that passed through solid objects.

In this case, he could tell there was a person standing behind the stairwell, but couldn't necessarily tell who it was.

He shifted his weight slightly in mid-air and his course through the sky changed. He circled around the building. He was high enough that the casual observer on the ground wouldn't see him, nor did he cast any perceivable shadow. Plus, the large amount of blue in his costume helped to blend him into the sky. He was, in effect, invisible from the ground.

Superman circled into a position where he could see the person between the Daily Planet globe and the stairwell. His eyesight was many times better than most people's. Even from this distance, he could clearly make out who the person was. It was Lois.

She must have gotten worried, he thought.

With one last cautionary look around, Superman descended to the roof of the Daily Planet building and into the arms of his wife.

* * *

Perry White, editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet, stepped out of his office. He was holding a fax in his hand. "Attention everyone," he bellowed.

Everyone in the office stopped whatever they were doing and turned to listen to their boss. Whenever Perry bellowed outside his office, it usually meant a big story was in the works.

Perry waited a few seconds for a few people to finish phone calls and turn their attention his way. Finally, he said, "As you all know, the Planet participates in the Metropolis United Way campaign every year. LexCorp donated a number of prizes for those companies participating. I'm proud to say that the Planet raised a total of ten thousand, eight hundred sixty two dollars in pledges. That places us sixth place for all pledges this year."

The crew of the Daily Planet clapped and gave themselves a round of applause.

Perry waved down the applause and continued. "The first place prize as everyone remembers was the trip to Hawaii. We didn't win that." Everyone laughed. "But, the prize for sixth place is two tickets to a Broadway show in New York City. The Planet has decided to pick up the cost of sending the winner and their companion to New York."

"Who won, Perry?" Ron Troupe asked. Ron was one of the up and coming reporters at the Planet.

"Yeah, Perry, who won?" Lois asked. Clark stood beside her.

"Well," Perry said, "The fair thing to do would be to have an office drawing. But, we're way too busy to do that. Therefore, I'm going to make an executive decision and award the tickets to the individual here at the paper who collected the most pledges."

Perry held up the theater tickets and looked over the people in the office before him. Everyone looked around, trying to guess who the lucky person was.

Clark smiled. He put his arm around his wife and gave her a squeeze. He'd volunteered to help run the pledge drive at the Planet and he appeared to be the only person besides Perry who knew who had collected the most pledges.

"Come on, Perry," Lois prompted, "Who is it?"

"Well, darling, I think you are," Perry said, handing the tickets to Lois. "Everyone, Lois Lane collected the most pledges for all of the Planet. So she's going to get the tickets."

"Who are you taking with you?" Jimmy Olson teased. "I think I'm free next weekend."

"Funny, Jimmy." Lois turned around and slid both arms around Clark's waist. "I'm taking my wonderful new husband. We'll consider it like a second honeymoon."

Ron Tripe stepped forward and patted Clark on the shoulder and gave Lois a quick peck on the cheek. "Have fun you two."

"Yeah, have fun," Perry said. "Just don't get into as much trouble this time as you did on your first honeymoon." Perry was referencing the fact that Lois had gotten kidnapped by an international terrorist group on her honeymoon. Clark and her father ended up rescuing her. It resulted in the Planet getting a major scoop on the terrorists, but the honeymoon was officially considered a bust.

"Trust me, Perry, we're going to enjoy New York," Lois said. "And it's going to be a completely 'work-free' weekend." She looked at Clark.

Clark recognized that look. It was Lois' "and I mean 'no work of *any* kind weekend'." He and Lois had talked about having a weekend like this. A weekend totally to themselves and with no outside interruptions.

Lois looked closer at the theater tickets. "Clark," she said.

"Yes."

She showed him the tickets. "I wonder is this is Lex's twisted sense of humor?"

Clark looked at the tickets. They were for 'Les Miserables', the Victor Hugo story about Jean Valjean, a fugitive with honor during the French Revolution. "Well, it is a classic," he said. "And it gets very good reviews."

As Superman, Clark had exposed Lex as a criminal mastermind. But Lex had avoided a conviction on various technicalities.

"Yeah, yeah, sure" Lois said.

* * *

Lois and Clark left work early on Friday afternoon. They were already packed and went directly to the train station. Metropolis was only a couple hours by rail from New York. Although Clark could have flown them both there in a couple of minutes, sometimes they had to take more pedestrian forms of travel to help cover his secret identity. Besides, it gave them precious time alone.

The train ride to New York went smoothly. Lois was looking forward to the weekend. She had never really thought much about having children, but now the thought was beginning to surface more and more.

Sometimes, she'd eat a light lunch in the park a couple blocks from the Daily Planet building. She'd see children playing on the swings and slides and she'd simply lose track of time. She was hoping to broach the topic with Clark during their private weekend.

It was often hard to talk with Clark about private things like this. When they weren't working and Clark wasn't being Superman, they were dealing with the rigors of modern city life. And those few times in the week when they had time to themselves, Clark had a habit of hearing some dire emergency and dashing off.

After winning the theater tickets, Lois had put her foot down: one weekend, forty-eight uninterrupted hours. It was all she wanted. Clark had reluctantly agreed.

Lois had decided to spurge and had gotten reservations at the Four Seasons. It was a luxury hotel in midtown Manhattan and was absolutely suited for a quiet weekend together.

Several times during the train ride and then the walk to the hotel, Clark had seemed distant. Lois knew those times were when his super-hearing had detected some sort of trouble. But he kept to his word. He'd decided to take a weekend off. After all, even Superman needed a vacation once in awhile.

"Do you really want to walk to the hotel?" Clark asked.

"The exercise will do me some good," Lois explained. "I'm planning on pigging out this weekend. Those are the rules. No diets, no work, no interruptions."

"Okay," Clark said, looking at several cabs as they passed on the street outside Grand Central Station.

"Besides, it's not like you can't carry the heavy bags," Lois winked. "And what do you have to fear from a mugger?"

"Well, I don't have to worry, but what about you?" Clark said.

"I'm sure someone will protect me," Lois said. "At least he will if he expects to see the new lingerie I bought..."

Clark smiled. He didn't like giving up his Superman responsibilities, even for a weekend. But he decided that sometimes, there were benefits to be had by taking some time off.

* * *

They settled into their room after the walk to the hotel. Lois put out the "do not disturb" sign and then headed to the bathroom to change. Clark was standing at the balcony when she came out. The nighttime view from their 22nd story room was breathtaking.

But then Clark saw his wife's newest outfit and decided that the view inside was even more breathtaking.

* * *

Saturday morning, the newlyweds slept in late. Clark didn't really have a physical need to sleep, but needed the mental relaxation. He was constantly surprised how very much he enjoyed holding Lois and snuggling together.

Although he could shrug off a hail of bullets and barely register the feeling on his skin, he was almost intoxicated by the simply touch of a woman's hand. He assumed that was part of the energy field that surrounded his body; the harder and faster something hit him, the stronger the field countered. Only a very soft and slow object could truly penetrate the field and touch his actual skin. Since very little actually was able to penetrate the field, he wasn't used to being touched as much as a normal human being would be. Therefore, each tender caress was as if it was the first.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" Clark asked, after a quiet and leisurely breakfast in bed.

"It's supposed to be a vacation," Lois snapped. "No agenda."

Clark smiled. "Okay. 'Agenda' was the wrong word. What do you want to do? A museum tour, a ferry ride to the Statue of Liberty, a day at Coney Island? We don't have to be at the theater until nearly 8:00."

"Can't we just lay here and talk?"

"If that's what you want. I just thought you'd want to do the tourist stuff."

"We can do the tourist stuff anytime."

"We can talk anytime," Clark pointed out.

Lois frowned. This was going to be tougher than she thought. "Yes...," she started, taking one last sip of her coffee, "But we don't. We're always on the run. I just want one weekend when we don't have anything at all to do."

"But you want to talk?"

"Yes."

"What about?" Clark asked. He rolled over and gave Lois his full attention.

She looked into his steel blue eyes. Normally, he hid them behind his glasses, but when they were together in private, he took the glasses off. Lois remembered the old saying about the eyes being the windows to the soul. She also remembered that her husband could project beams of intense heat and light from his eyes. His "laser vision" could melt through the toughest steel like a steak knife through butter.

There were also the same eyes she'd stared into as they'd spoken their wedding vows. They were the same eyes she gazed into when they made soft, slow, tender love.

"Well...," Lois started. This really is going to be tough, she thought. "What do you think about kids?" she blurted it out. It was the only way to get the conversation going.

"I like children, Lois, honey," Clark said, his voice softer than usual. "But I don't know if we..., if..., I..., that is, if *I* can have any. With a human woman, that is." He paused. Lois waited. "We talked about this before we got married."

"Yes, I remember," Lois said.

She remembered that conversation. Clark had explained that although he looked totally human on the outside, inside he was far different than a human. He told her about the tests that Dr. Hamilton had performed on him.

Doctor Emil Hamilton was one of Star Labs most brilliant scientists. Hamilton was a modern-day Renaissance man who was expert in many and widely differing areas. Having assisted Superman on several occasions, Hamilton had politely asked Superman to return the favor by allowing the scientist to examine him.

It had taken Clark some time to make the decision. But eventually, his own curiosity got the best of him. He was unique amongst all the people on Earth and he wanted to know more about himself. He trusted Hamilton and finally agreed to the examinations.

Clark had told her about how Dr. Hamilton had studied Superman's physiology and determined that his powers came from a silicon-based body chemistry.

Humans, and all life on Earth in fact, was based on carbon molecules. All of the proteins, fats, carbohydrates, enzymes, vitamins, and other chemical compounds found in the human body were based on carbon molecules.

Carbon was an element that readily formed stable bonds with many other elements, forming the variety of molecules required to create life. The only other element that bonded as easily with other elements was silicon.

Coming from the planet Krypton, Clark was not human. His body was not carbon-based. It was composed of silicon compounds. Some of the cells of his body absorbed and stored solar energy, just as cells in a human body absorbed fats and carbohydrates and stored chemical energy. This stored solar energy and the silicon compounds in his body gave Superman his powers.

The silicon compounds made his body more durable. The cells in his eyes could emit light, just like silicon-based semiconductor lasers. Those same cells were sensitive to a wider range of light, just like the silicon-based charged couple cells in a modern television camera. The stored solar energy in his body's cells created an intense field around his body. This field gave him the ability to repeal gravity and fly. The force field also provided a component to his invulnerability and his strength.

This different body chemistry and different DNA structure also made it impossible for a Kryptonian to sire offspring with a human.

"I understand that we can't have our *own* children," Lois said. "But there's nothing that prevents us from raising a child. We can adopt. After all, it seemed to work out okay for *your* parents."

Clark smiled. "Yes, I guess it did."

* * *


	5. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 5

### New York City, the street outside Sotheby's

Selina Kyle walked slowly on the sidewalk in front of Sotheby's. The world famous auction house was hosting the Princess Diana Charities latest fund-raising event. An auction of the late princess's personal effects and various other items; all to benefit the charities Diana had championed. One of the items was the Lion's Soul.

The Lion's Soul was an almost mythical cat's eye gem. The origin of the gem was lost in the mists of time. It had somehow made its way into the Spencer family sometime in the late 18th century. The Princess acquired it as a wedding present from her father.

Selina had tried to steal the gem during its exhibit in Gotham City. But she'd been thwarted by Batman. Tonight would be the last chance she'd have before the gem was purchased by some as yet unknown buyer. Eventually, she'd be able to track it down, but she wanted the gem now. She had already arranged for a buyer and didn't want to delay the deal.

With the practiced eye of the world's greatest cat burglar, she studied the possible access points of the building. She noted weaknesses to exploit and strengths to avoid. Tonight, she'd be back. As Catwoman.

* * *

James Bond enjoyed the sunny morning as he walked toward Sotheby's New York office. He enjoyed the weather. When he'd left London, it was overcast and drizzling. Here, it was clear and bright. Just the sort of weather that brought out certain feelings in a man.

Bond casually watched the various women that walked along the same sidewalk with him. He enjoyed the view, both coming and going. He enjoyed the sight of the women's bodies and their smiles, but Bond didn't happen to see any women that struck his particular fancy.

That was, until he neared Sotheby's. A tall, dark-haired woman walked slowly in front of the building. Bond slowed also, to watch her. Something clicked in the back of his mind.

Bond had survived many years in the Cold War by listening to that little voice in the back of his mind. He wasn't sure what exactly it was about that woman; was she triggering his innate spy's survival instinct or was it something far baser. He studied the woman for a moment. She was wearing a well tailored suit. Although the garments covered her nearly completely, it was apparent that the suit was meant to enhance the woman's considerable figure. She had more curves than a winding mountain road.

Bond smiled at the thought of seeing her naked.

The woman was looking closely at the building. Was she a tourist? Bond wondered. He looked at the building himself. His practiced eye noted a couple of potential security risks. He reminded himself to discuss this with the security people this morning. But he couldn't see what was so interesting to the woman.

A moment later, the woman slid her sunglasses back on and strode past Bond without looking at him or acknowledging him in any way.

Bond waited a few moments and then headed into the building.

* * *

### Outside Sutheby's, New York City

Iron Man banked through the New York skyline. He had missed living in New York for so many years. Although he'd enjoyed his home in Malibu, he was glad he'd relocated back to New York when he'd formed Stark Solutions.

The eye slits in his helmet were closed, the lexan lenses shielding his eyes from the air blast of his flight through the air. The HUD, or heads up display, on the inside of the lenses showed various critical bits of information.

Iron Man triggered his boot jets to slow down. He angled his flight downward and he headed toward the ground. His memory of New York's layout remained intact--he saw the Black Widow waiting for him in front of the Sutheby's building.

There were here to persuade the Latverian officials to reconsider their attempts to kick start their ailing economy by selling Dr. Doom's inventions.

* * *

The Black Widow and Iron Man had barely started their discussions with the Latverian Science and Economic ministers when the air was filled with the sounds of alarms.

"What does that alarm mean?" the Widow demanded.

"I'm ... not sure," the Science Minister stuttered. "Sutheby's lent us this office," he tried to explain in his broken English.

"Security alarm," Iron Man explained, as he stood and started to stride out of the room. "You both stay here where it's safer," he told the officials.

The Black Widow sprinted behind the Gold and Red Avenger. She had worked often enough with Iron Man to know that he'd probably tapped into the local police or alarm agency radio channels and gotten a direct answer to her question. As she and her fellow Avenger hurried down the hall, she wondered, was this just an over anxious potential bidder handling the merchandise or something more serious.

The office where the two Avengers had been meeting with the Latverian ministers was on the third floor of the building. Doom's equipment up for bid was in the main hall on the first floor. As they reached the main staircase, Iron Man didn't stop; he vaulted over the edge of the staircase and used his boot jets on their lowest setting to lower himself to the first floor. This was much faster than waiting for an elevator or running down the stairs.

As quick as Iron Man was descending to the first floor, the Widow as quicker. She had been the Soviet Union's most decorated gymnast and ballet dancer in her youth. She still had the strength and flexibility to complete at Olympic levels if she choice to. She likewise vaulted over the edge of the stairwell. Her body was a lot lighter than Iron Man's armor; she didn't have to cushion her decent quite the same as he did. She literally bounced off the walls of the stairwell and then killed most of her downward momentum by doing a backflip right before touching down on the first floor stairwell landing.

She crouched at the bottom of the stairs, in a battle-ready position. Her hands where raised in front of her; she was ready to strike with either her hands, feet, or to use her "Widow's Bite." The Widow's Bite was an electro-shock device built into the bands she wore around her wrists. At a flick of the wrist, she could send a plasma bolt nearly 25 yards. The bolt would degrade quickly, but at 10 yards, it packed nearly 10,000 volts. Not as powerful as Iron Man's repulsors or Thor's hammer or the Scarlet Witch's hex bolts, but powerful enough to down almost any foe.

As soon as Iron Man touched down on the first floor, the two ran toward main hall. As they rounded the corner of the hallway to the main hall, they saw several security guards laying on the floor. What they had feared appeared to have come to pass. Someone was trying to steal the advanced technology of Dr. Doom!

* * *

### New York City, outside Sotheby's, about 1:00 am

Bond stretched and looked at his watch. He was still on London time and was feeling tired. He told himself he wasn't as young as he used to be. Leave the all night stuff for the younger agents, he thought. He had better ways to spend the time if he was going to be awake all night.

He was stationed in the anteroom outside the small gallery where the Lion's Soul was on display. So far, it was a quiet night. He checked in with the hired security guards downstairs every half hour and every fifteen minutes, he walked through the gallery just in case.

Although he was trying to stop smoking, Bond found the urge to smoke strongest in situations like this. He hating waiting. He absent-mindedly reached inside his sport coat for the cigarette case in the inner breast pocket. But the case wasn't there. He'd stopped smoking the Chesterfields ages ago. But old habits die hard.

Maybe a breath of fresh air, Bond thought. He had about 20 minutes before having to check in with the security desk. He walked down the short hallway and was about to open a balcony door when he noticed that it was already slightly ajar. The hairs on the back of his neck started to tingle.

The door was supposed to be locked shut. And it was on a security circuit. The alarms should be ringing if the door was opened. He knew how to bypass the alarms from the small control panel on the wall; only three people knew the security codes and they'd been shared with him just that afternoon.

Bond had been studying security systems, and the ways to bypass them, for nearly thirty years. He quickly determined that the wires around the frame had been bypassed from the outside and the door opened with setting off the alarms. Obviously, a professional.

He reached his hand into this jacket again. This time, the item he desired was there: the PPK. He slid the small gun out of the shoulder harness and flicked off the safety. Bond then turned and slowly and quietly begin a thorough search of the second floor. He was almost back to his station outside the gallery when he saw something. Or maybe he just sensed it; there was someone in the other side hallway. He moved quickly to the corner, gun ready. He peeked around the corner, leading with the gun.

At the far end of the other hallway was a window. This one opened to the inside courtyard, but was still wired to the security system. There was a person, a woman, in a black skintight suit trying to bypass the security wires.

"Stop, or I'll shoot," Bond said, firm and loud.

The woman spun around at the sound of Bond's voice. Although the top half of her face was covered by the cowl she wore, he had the sense that this was the same woman he'd admired on the street earlier that day. Her figure was even more stunning in the skintight costume she wore now.

"You look like a gentleman," the woman said. Her voice was almost a purr. "You wouldn't hurt little ol' me."

Bond gestured slightly with the gun, "Move away from the window or I'll shoot."

"No guns," came a gruff voice behind Bond. He started to turn and was startled to see a mass of black envelope him. Strong hands grabbed his forearms and jerked the gun away from its target. Only Bond's years of training and experience allowed him to recover from the surprise and control the gun. A less experienced agent might have accidentally discharged the weapon.

Bond tried to lean forward and judo throw his unknown opponent, but the man was obviously a skilled fighter. Bond felt his balance falter as the man twisted his arm and somehow applied pressure to the back of Bond's legs.

As both men struggled, the alarm suddenly went off; the woman had literally run and smashed the window, apparently falling to her death outside.

"You let her get away," both men said, almost together. Bond relented and released his grip on the PPK. The other man immediately kicked the gun away from Bond and relaxed his own grip on Bond.

James Bond turned to confront his attacker. The man was as tall or even taller than Bond, and covered in black. A black cape draped around the man and a black cowl covered his head and most of his face. Only the whites of the man's eyes were visible through the slits in the mask.

"You're that Batman bloke from Gotham City," he stated.

"And that's Catwoman. And she's stealing your gem," Batman said, his voice still gruff and low.

Bond bent over quickly to scoop up his PPK. "No guns," Batman told him again.

"Fine," Bond said, sliding it into its shoulder harness. The gun would do little good now anyway without a target.

Batman moved quickly to the smashed window. He grabbed the edges of the frame in his gloved hands and started pulling away the broken parts of the frame to make room so he could squeeze through.

"What are you doing?" Bond demanded.

"Going after her."

Bond shook his head and followed the Dark Knight through the window.

* * *

Iron Man and the Black Widow burst into the main auction hall of Sutheby's to find Iron Man's long time nemesis the Mandarin standing in front of Doom's inventions.

The oriental turned and considered the two Avengers as they burst through the heavy oak doors. Iron Man hadn't even bothered to open them; he simply ran right through them like a juggernaut. The Mandarin was almost casual in his appraisal of his foes. He merely raised a hand and aimed a finger at the Armored Avenger.

A blast of intense cold shot out for the alien ring the Mandarin wore on his index finger. Iron Man dodged the blast, as did the Widow. They moved to either side of the room; forcing Mandarin to divide his attention. It was a standard Avenger's maneuver. One that was practiced over and over again under the watchful eye of the Avenger's master strategist, Captain America.

The lexan shield slide down over Iron Man's eyes as the Armored Avenger shifted the suit into battle mode. A head's up display reflected off the lexan and informed Stark that the suit was at full power. The suit began running on internal oxygen, started monitoring Stark's heart rate and breathing, and a number of tactical subroutines started running.

The suit began to record it's own internal status as well as a visual and sensor record of the environment around it. More than once, Stark had benefited from a routine review of this record--it provided him a continually updated database of his opponents' fighting styles and power levels. Just as in business, effective use of this information allowed him to remain one step ahead of his opponents.

The suit would continue in this mode until Iron Man specifically turned it off or the suit ran out of power. Stark had designed the systems to work this way in case he was ever knocked unconscious during a fight--the suit would automatically do it's best to protect him.

Satisfied with the suit's status, Iron Man returned the offensive with his own offensive maneuver. He raised one of his arms, palm out and a repulsor blast caught the Mandarin square in the chest. The silk of the oriental's robes began to smoke and the force of the blast knocked the man off his feet and backwards into the exhibits.

Stark had fought the Mandarin in several different incarnations. He knew that his Iron Man armor was the equal of the Mandarin's alien rings and they could fight each other to a standstill. The only way to stop this immediately was to press the attack.

Iron Man launched himself at his enemy. The Mandarin dodged the missile coming at him and Iron Man found himself flying into one of Doom's machines. That was stupid, Stark told himself. You're letting your hatred of this silent Mandarin get to you.

The Mandarin had bonded to his amazing rings and could transfer his mind into the rings. Although the previous Mandarin had died, the mind of Iron Man's greatest foe had survived and had transferred itself into the young man before them. Only this version of the Mandarin wouldn't hardly talk.

In the good old days, Mandy was so busy telling me how he was going to rule the world, I'd have time to deal with him, Iron Man thought to himself. This guy's way too cool.

As soon as she had cleared the shattered door behind Iron Man, Black Widow had ID'd the Mandarin from the Avengers files. She knew that she was outclassed to confront the rings by herself, but she knew that she could call for backup and then distract the Mandarin. She touched a stud on her belt and send an automated message to Avenger's Mansion. Whoever was on monitor duty would determine her location from the GPS signal in her message unit and any other Avengers on duty or available would soon arrive.

In the meantime, she decided to make herself useful. She raised her left hand and let loose with one of her Widow's Bites.

10,000 volts should have scrambled Mandarin's brains and left him laying on the floor in a puddle of his own wastes. But it didn't.

Natasha was dumbfounded. Great, she thought, the rings must protect him.

She leapt to the other side of the room and tried to flank him. Iron Man was still untangling himself from the machine he'd crashed into. Mandarin was advancing on the Armored Avenger, ready to move in for the kill.

Iron Man raised his right hand, readying another repulsor blast directly at this opponent. The Mandarin likewise raised his hand to unleash his rings' fury. The Widow raised her right hand and tried a Widow's Bite again; if only to distract Mandarin one split second.

All three fired at the same time. The Widow's Bite enveloped Mandarin just as Iron Man's repulsor hit him in the chest. Mandarin's shot went wild, striking the machine that Iron Man was now standing on.

In a blink of the eye, Iron Man realized what he was standing on. Doom's time machine. And Mandarin's shot somehow activated the machine. The last thing he saw was Mandarin slumping to the floor from the combined effect of the Widow's Bite and repulsor. And the surprised look on the Black Widow's face as Iron Man faded from view.

* * *

### New York City, not far from Sotheby's

"So what did you think? Good play, huh?" Lois asked. She had her arm nestled in the arm of her husband and they were walking back to the hotel after the play and a late dinner.

"Yes," Clark agreed, opening his tie. He almost never wore his shirt unbuttoned at the top and his tie loose. Most of the time, he had his Superman costume on underneath and wouldn't risk having it show. Lois had talked him into leaving the costume home for the weekend. "But who would have imagined Pee-Wee Herman as Jean Val Jean?"

"Oh, he didn't do *that* bad," Lois said. He leaned her head against her husband's broad shoulder. "And the important thing is that we're together, no super villains popping up and ruining the day, and I've got some more lingerie to show you tonight."

Clark laughed. He laughed out loud, for the first time in days. The two walked slowly toward their hotel. They sort of wove back and forth, as lovers are wont to do when trying to walk and talk, and lean on each other all at the same time.

* * *

"She went this way," Bond argued.

The man in black was almost invisible to the British agent. That cape allows him to just melt into the night, Bond thought. There had been a number of times in the past when Bond had wished he had the same power.

A moments hesitation. "Yes," the man in black agreed. The two of them started to run through the inner courtyard of the building, toward the alley.

This thing must be cursed, Catwoman thought as she sprinted down the alleyway. The Lion's Soul gem was stashed into a small pouch inside her costume. My luck's been bad ever since I laid eyes on the damn thing, she told herself. "Don't know if it's worth it," she muttered. She slid her hand into the pouch and grasped the gem. She pulled it out, thinking about stashing it somewhere and circling back to get it after she lost her pursuers.

She was nearing the end of the alley. Catwoman would have to run across one of the main New York streets to continue her escape to the alley in the next block. Normally, she'd have stayed to the rooftops. But in this part of New York, there was an odd mix of older two and three story buildings and the occasional five or six story building. It was just too much work to climb to the roof again with Batman and the English guy with the gun on her tail. She was willing to risk the dash into the streetlights. This was the theater district. Who knew, Selina thought, seeing me might just be the highlight of some theater goer's night.

* * *

Iron Man was conscious, but he had no idea what Doom's time machine had been set to. Why was the damn thing even powered up? he wondered.

There was little to see in the timestream. Only flashes of light and a sense of falling. Unlike the movies, you didn't actually see events passing by at top speed.

Luckily, Stark's previous adventures with Doom to the time of King Arthur had left him with a little experience with Doom's time travel technology. He was confident that when the machine settled to a stop his armor would protect him from whatever harm might present itself and his skill as an engineer would allow him to reset the machine and return to the present time. His present time.

* * *

Lois and Clark had stopped on the street. They stood below a street light and embraced. Clark leaned down to kiss his wife. Had his mind not been on the prospect of that new lingerie, his enhanced senses might have heard the woman coming down the alleyway. As it was, she caught the lover's by surprise.

Catwoman sprinted down the alleyway and almost plowed into the two people standing there kissing. Tired from her run and still aching from her exertions two days before, she stumbled.

The gemstone fell out of her hand; but amazingly the big guy grabbed it before it hit the ground.

"That's Catwoman," Lois yelled. "Stop her!"

Clark reached out quickly and held onto Catwoman's arm with his other hand.

Catwoman had never seen anyone move as quick as this big guy. She tried to pull away, but the guy's grip was like a steel vise. She heard the sound of two sets of footfalls coming down the alley. This damned gem is bad luck, she told herself. I don't know why I even tried to steal it.

Batman and Bond emerged from the alleyway. Batman instantly recognized the Kents. He saw how hard Selina was struggling, to no avail, in Kent's grip. He almost cracked the smallest of smiles knowing Kent's little secret and enjoying the irony that even when the Big Blue Boy Scout was on vacation he was still a force for good.

Bond paused for a moment to catch his breath. He was amazed that the Batman was barely breathing hard. 007 dug his SIS identification card out of his breast pocket and presented it to the big guy holding Catwoman. Kent didn't take the card; he had his hands full with the gem in one hand and Catwoman in the other. His wife snatched the card from Bond. "I'm with the British Government," he panted. "Catwoman, you're under arrest." He reached over to the captive thief and pulled off her cowl. Her thick black hair tumbled out.

"You don't have jurisdiction here," Catwoman protested.

Lois recognized the name on the ID. She'd done an extensive article on the aftermath of the Cold War a couple years before. Although she couldn't dig up all the secrets around this guy, she knew enough about Commander Bond to know that he was a very highly placed spook in the British Intelligence Service.

"Actually, Catwoman, I think he does," Lois started to say. "According to this ID, he's with the British Secret Intelligence Service. Isn't that right, Mr. Bond?"

"Yes," Bond replied, taking back his ID and putting it back in his inside jacket pocket.

Clark remembered Lois' article also. "James Bond?" he asked.

"Yes," Bond said.

Clark handed Catwoman to Batman. As Clark let go of her arm, Catwoman made a break for it. All three men immediately took chase and reached her before she'd gotten more then about 10 feet.

The night air was interrupted by a shrill sound. Clark and Batman both looked upward to the source of the noise; Bond, Lois, and Catwoman all covered their ears at the piercing sound. None of them saw the gem still in Clark's hand begin to glow.

Iron Man and Doom's time machine exited the time stream about fifty feet above the ground. Iron Man struggled to twist the machine away from the small crowd of people directly below him, but even as the machine was about to hit the ground he sensed that it was cycling again.

The time machine never reached the ground. Still energized by Mandarin's blast, the time machine automatically cycled again. This time, however, it was caught up in a strange mix of energy from the Lion's Soul gem and the stored solar energy of the Kryptonian holding it.

When the police arrived two minutes later, responding to reports of a loud noise and a crash, they would find no evidence of anyone at the supposed impact site. They questioned Lois and took statements from several people along the street who had witnessed the whole incident.

* * *

### Inside Sutheby's

The Black Widow stood stunned. Iron Man had just disappeared before her eyes. She paused for a moment, considering her options. She readied another Widow's Bite charge just in case Iron Man's repulsor hadn't taken out Mandarin completely. But so far, the villain seemed content to remain defeated.

Mandarin laid sprawled on the floor amidst the broken furniture and associated debris of the fight.

Black Widow was still breathing hard from the fight when she heard the sound from the entrance. "Let me have at thee villain." She smiled. Only Thor, the Norse God of Thunder, would announce his arrival in such a boisterous manner. That meant the rest of the Avengers couldn't be far behind.

A moment later, Thor strode into the room, following in a quick succession by Captain America and the Scarlet Witch. The three Avengers joined Natasha.

"Looks like we got here too late," Captain America said. He had surveyed the entire room with a glance and determined that the Mandarin was not going to be a bother to anyone. "Good work, Natasha."

"Iron Man was the one that took him down. I just ran diversion," she explained.

"Where is Iron Man?" Thor wondered. "I must congratulate him on a battle well fought and a villain soundly defeated."

"Well..." Black Widow said, "That's the hard part."

Captain America instantly tensed. His years of experience told him something was wrong the second he heard Natasha's voice.

"What happened?"

"Iron Man disappeared," Black Widow explained. "He was thrown into Doom's Time Machine during the fight. Somehow it got turned on and the next thing I know, he's taking down Mandarin with a repulsor blast and then in a blink of the eye, he's gone."

Thor and the Scarlet Witch assisted the New York Police Department with securing the Mandarin while Captain America and the Black Widow discussed Iron Man's fate. They stood off to one side of the room and kept their voices down to avoid eavesdroppers. "If anyone understands that damned time machine other than Doom, it's Tony. If he was able to, I'm sure he'd program the thing to return him here the split second after he left," Natasha argued. "Something must be wrong. Seriously wrong."

"I agree," Captain America said. "Unfortunately, none of the rest of us have Tony's experience with this sort of thing."

The leader of the Avengers took out his Avengers ID card. It had a built-in two-way video phone built into it. He pressed the number pad several times and was soon connected with the leader of the Fantastic Four, Dr. Reed Richards.

"Hello, Dr. Richards," Captain America said.

"Hello, Captain. What can we do for the Avengers today?"

"We need some assistance with Dr. Doom's Time Machine. Aside from Doom himself, you're probably the most qualified," Captain America said. He continued to explain what had happened to Iron Man.

"I'll be right over," Dr. Richards said.

* * *

Dr. Reed Richards was one of the nation's foremost scientists. He was also the head of the Fantastic Four. The FF was one of the superhero teams that called New York City home. Unlike the other teams, the Fantastic Four was more of a family. The team was composed of Richards, his wife, Sue, her brother, Johnny, and Richards' best friend, Ben Grimm. The four had been exposed to cosmic rays during an early test flight of a spacecraft Richards had designed. Instead of killing the four, the radiation changed each of them.

Benjamin J. Grimm, now went by the code-name of "the Thing." His skin had become rock hard and he'd actually developed stony interlocking plates in a dull orange color. His strength, already formable for a man of his age and size, was increased to nearly the level of the Hulk. The former test pilot had become the teams grumpy strong man.

Susan Storm-Richards, had developed the power to turn herself invisible. She initially adopted the code-name "Invisible Girl," but eventually changed it to "Invisible Woman" after the birth of her first child. She later discovered the ability to project transparent force fields of virtually unbreakable strength. Although perceived by many as the weakest member of the group, she was actually the strongest. With the power of her force fields, she could defend herself against even the strongest opponent. And she was continually trying to find new ways to use her invisibility and force fields in offensive ways.

Sue's brother, Johnny, had developed the power to control fire. He had the ability to turn his entire body into a mass of flames. This allowed him to fly and to control fire, both his own and others, natural and artifically generated.

Richards himself found that his body could bend, stretch, and mold itself into nearly any shape he could imagine. He had the ability to reach an arm or his entire body across the Hudson river if he choose to. He could mold himself into any number of shapes, including becoming a human rubber ball or a human elastic band. Johnny, the youngest of the group, has christened Reed "Mr. Fantastic." The moniker stuck, but unlike most other superheroes, the Fantastic Four didn't bother hiding their real identities. These days, about the only person that called him "Mr. Fantastic" was Mrs. Richards when she was in a amorous mood.

Instead of feeling sorry for themselves, the group determined to make the best of their misfortune and formed the first of the modern super teams: the Fantastic Four.

Dr. Victor Von Doom, the Baron of Latveria, was one of the Fantastic Four's first and most tenacious opponents. A brilliant scientist on par with Richards, Von Doom had scarred his face during a failed experiment. Turning angry at the world for his accident, Von Doom had spent his life trying to conquer the lands neighboring his native Latveria. Although he'd been viewed as a terrorist by the world at large, Von Doom was the beloved leader of his native land until his apparent death a year ago.

Von Doom's greatest invention was a time machine. The time machine had figured prominently in the Fantastic Four's first conflict with Doom and in many since. Only two men in the world besides Von Doom understood the function of the machine: Reed Richards and Tony Stark.

And now, Stark was apparently lost to the sands of time because of the machine.

* * *

The Fantastic Four was headquartered in the Baxter Building in the middle of Manhattan. It took Reed Richards only moments to reach Sutheby's. When he arrived, he found a number of reporters and photographers trying to get in. Instead of trying to wade through the crowd, he simply stretched up and walked over the entire group. Planting one foot on the steps of the building beyond the police barricade, he was over the crowd in a flash and then he returned his body to it's normal shape. The stunt didn't just speed up his entry into the building, it proved his identity to the police officers guarding the crime scene. They waved him in.

Richards stood at the entrance to main hall of Sutheby's and surveyed the mess. His plain blue jumpsuit with the white "4" in a circle on the left side of the chest seemed almost understated compared to the bright red, white and blue of Captain America's costume, or the flowing red cape and silvery helmet of Thor, or the provocative and exotic native Gypsy dress of the Scarlet Witch. The only costume perhaps plainer than Mr. Fantastic's was the Black Widow's unadorned jet black leather full-bodysuit.

"Reed," Captain America yelled from across the room, "Thanks for coming." The Captain waved the scientist over.

"My pleasure," Richards said. He stretched out his free hand and shook that of the Avengers' leader. As he maneuvered through the debris, he retracted the length of his arm to match he distance he was from the living legend. "I brought some equipment. I hope you don't mind." He held up the case in his other arm.

"Whatever you require," Captain America said. He knew Reed would have gizmos that would assist the investigation. The only person with more gadgets than Tony Stark was Reed Richards, Captain America thought.

"Where was the time machine before it was activated?" Richards asked.

"Over here," Black Widow motioned.

Richards cracked open his case and pulled out a complex piece of equipment. To Captain America the device it looked like something Rube Goldberg would have invented for his newspaper column.

Dr. Richards activated the device and several lights began blinking. He remained standing beside Captain America and Black Widow, but stretched his arms to scan around the room with the device. He eventually returned the device to the spot Natasha had pointed out. "Yes, that's the distinct signature of one of Victor's devices," he said.

Another few minutes of scanning. His malleable face carried a frown by the time he was finished. "Do you have any idea what activated the time machine?" Richards asked.

Black Widow shook her head. "No. Unless Mandarin turned it on before we got here. And he's not talking right now." She nodded in the direction of the unconscious Mandarin as Thor carried him out of the room to the waiting high security ambulance.

"So we have no idea of the time it was set for," Richards said. "The past, the future, no idea?"

"None," Natasha frowned.

Richards turned off his device and returned it to the case. "I'm afraid I can't help much. I have another of Victor's time machines in a vault at the Baxter Building. But without an idea of where, or rather when, Iron Man went, it'd be nearly impossible to track him down."

"I was afraid of that," Captain America said. "Then, there's nothing we can do. It's up to Iron Man to figure out a way to return." It wasn't often that Captain America admitted defeat.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Richards said.

"So am I," Black Widow said.

* * *


	6. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 6

### The 24th Century, aboard the USS Enterprise, United Federation of Planets Starfleet registration number 1701-E

"Captain's Log, First Officer William T. Riker, recording. The Enterprise is engaged in a stellar mapping survey of the Maronda system. Although the Stellar Cartography department is staying busy with the survey, the remainder of the crew was enjoying the lack of excitement. Engineering used the 'downtime' to perform routine power system maintenance and Medical was conducting crew physicals.

Riker looked up as Captain Picard stepped from his ready room off the bridge. Riker stood to relinquish the captain's chair to Picard, but paused as Picard motioned for him to remain seated. Picard stood on the side of the bridge and looked at the holographic display of the main monitor. The monitor showed the interstellar void between stars. The Enterprise was proceeding between star systems at warp one.

"Status, Number One?" Picard casually asked.

"Everything's nominal, sir. Engineering reported about 30 minutes ago that they had completed the maintenance on decks 15, 16, and 17. They are estimating that decks 18 and 19 will be completed by the end of second shift. All other systems are active and working above specifications. Weapons status is ready, as is defensive systems."

"Good," Picard said.

"Everyone is enjoying the quiet," Riker continued. "There's a concert planned for 1830 this evening in the arboretum."

"Yes, Will," Picard said. "I know."

The two men stood casually looking at each other. Around them, the background sounds of the ship continued, but the skeleton crew on the bridge remained silent.

Riker finally broke the silence. "To be honest, Jean-Luc, everyone's a bit bored."

Captain Picard nodded. He understood exactly what his first officer meant. The last couple of years had been, well, exciting. The lose of the Enterprise-D and the discovery of the legendary Captain James T. Kirk and Kirk's heroic death, the launch of the Enterprise-E, the war with the Dominion and the associated problems with the Klingon Empire, and the trip back in time to fight the Borg yet again had kept Picard and his crew busy. To have such a routine mission was untypical for the crew of the Federation's flagship.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Picard said. "You know as well as I do that it can all change in an instant."

Just then, a bright flash of light filled the bridge. Picard turned to look at the source of the light. "Ah, mon captaine," Q said.

Merde, Picard said to himself. Just like Q to pop in at exactly *this* moment. I've really got to be more careful how I phrase things. "Q!" Picard said. "Get off my ship!"

Q held up his hands in a gesture of submission. "I come as a friend." He paused. "Really, I do," he said as he saw the look on Picard's face. "But the concert will have to wait. We have more important matters to deal with."

"What sort of matters?" Riker asked. He motioned for the security officer at the back of the bridge to cover Q with her phaser; although with Q, it probably won't matter. 

Q turned to the first officer. "If you'd have kept my little 'present,' you'd already know, wouldn't you?" Q was obviously referring to the time eight years ago when he had given Riker the powers of the Q Continuum.

"What are you talking about?" Picard demanded.

"Oh, it's not going to be that easy," Q said, wagging his finger at the Captain. "You'll have to figure it out as you go."

"Q!" Picard exclaimed. "Explain yourself, or get off my bridge." He paused. "No, explain yourself *and* then get off my ship!"

Q shook his head. "No can do," he teased. "But I will leave you with this tiny bit of advice."

Just then a security team burst onto the bridge, following a split second later by Commander Data and Chief Engineer La Forge.

Q turned to see the two veteran officers. "Ah, good, the gang's all here. Well, almost all here. But after the problems you had with your last ship, I suppose Troy is banned from the bridge."

"Q," Picard prompted.

"Okay. Okay. Remember this: 'Think outside the box.'" And with a flash of bright white light, the troublesome being known only as "Q" was gone.

"What was that all about?" Riker asked.

Picard rubbed his bald forehead. "I don't know, but I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."

* * *

Picard sat in his ready room, pondering this latest visit from Q. Q was a seemingly omnipotent alien super-being. On the maiden voyage of the Enterprise-D, Picard and some of his current crew had been "charged" by Q with the crimes of humanity. The Q entity had apparently taken some sort of interest in Picard personally, and had bedeviled Picard every since.

Jean-Luc likened Q to the Coyote, the trickster of American Aboriginal mythology. Picard was something of an amateur archeologist. He'd encountered descriptions of similar beings in some of the mythologies of other civilizations he'd studied.

What did Q want this time? Picard asked himself.

Q usually had some obscure agenda nearly every time he visited. Regardless of Q's real agenda, Picard often suspected that the true reasons for the visits was simply to torment him. Picard had been tormented by his own actions as Locutus of Borg. He'd also been captured by the Cardassians and had been tortured by Gul Madred. He'd been tormented, as every captain was, by the deaths of members of the crew under his command. He was tormented by the deaths of his brother and nephew. But he sometimes felt that those incidents were picnics compared to the subtle mechanizations of Q.

"Captain," the intercom said. It was Riker's voice.

"Yes, Number One?"

"We just received new orders from Starfleet."

"Thank you, Number One, I'll be right there."

Picard stood from his desk, tugged his uniform top down into position, and walked out of the ready room and onto the bridge.

Riker was in the center chair, the command chair. When Picard walked onto the bridge, Riker stood and moved the next chair to the right. He remained standing until the Captain took his position in the center chair.

"Number One, let's see our new orders."

"Yes, sir," Riker said. He touched a control on his chair arm and the main viewscreen at the front of the bridge switched from the standard star field view to a communications banner.

The message was fairly short as command assignment messages went. It ordered Picard to change course and head to Bajor as quickly as possible. There, they were to consult with Starfleet science experts regarding anomalous readings from a recent long range scan of the Beta Quadrant.

No explanations were given why the Enterprise or Picard's crew was required on this assignment. Given that the fleet was still rebuilding from the war with the Dominion, it was just possible that theirs was the only ship with an experienced crew that was in the general area and available.

No orders were given to override the standing order to avoid speeds higher than warp five. Commander Data indicated that trip would take a little over one week.

Picard assumed the assignment was simply a routine change. Starfleet had a standing policy of rotating ships and crews through various assignments to increase overall experience. Regardless of any given ship's specialty, the experience gained on a variety of missions meant that each and every ship could be called on to handle whatever might come up across the vast reaches of the Federation and beyond.

Every ship in the fleet eventually participating in all of the different types of missions: defense, exploration, science, and diplomatic. This mission seemed to fall into the science category.

Picard knew that additional briefings regarding this mission would arrive as the ship continued on-route to Bajor.

"It'll be good to see Commander Worf again," Riker commented. "Too bad about his wife."

Commander Worf had served with distinction as the Security Chief on the Enterprise-D. After the destruction of the previous Enterprise on Veridian III, Worf had accepted an assignment aboard Deep Space Nine, the Starfleet outpost near Bajor and the Bajoran wormhole.

The wormhole was the only stable wormhole discovered in the Federation. It opened into the Beta Quadrant. The wormhole provided a shortcut to the Beta Quadrant; instead of Warp 8 for nearly twenty years, a ship could jump to the Beta Quadrant in mere moments.

"Yes," Picard agreed. "It will be good to see Worf again," he said. He wondered how the proud Klingon warrior was dealing with the lost of Jadzia, his Trill wife.

* * *

The trip to Bajor and Deep Space Nine was markedly uneventful.

Engineering continued their maintenance schedule and Medical continued their crew physicals.

One day out from Bajor, the Enterprise received a mission briefing from Starfleet Command. As was normal procedure, the various components of the briefing was distributed to the various ship department heads for distribution to the crew. The mission briefing contained a number of science attachments.

* * *

Arrival at Deep Space Nine was scheduled for just less than 6 hours when Commander William T. Riker reported on the bridge for his shift at 1400 hours.

The command chair was always manned by one of the senior staff. Normally, the Captain took Alpha shift, Riker took Beta shift, and Commander Data took Gamma shift. Depending upon mission activities and personal schedules, some of the other senior staff like Crusher, Troi, and La Forge sometimes rotated into the command chair.

Riker formally accepted the transfer of command from Picard and made the appropriate ship's log entries. The mission briefing was scheduled to begin at 1405 in the conference room adjacent to the bridge.

Exactly five minutes later, Riker entered the conference room at the back of the bridge. Geordi La Forge, Dr. Crusher, Counselor Troi, and Data were already here. Riker took his seat without saying anything. In over eight years of serving on the previous Enterprise and now on this new ship, everyone had fallen into a comfortable rhythm; everyone had met around this table numerous times before. A moment later Picard walked into the room.

Picard took his seat at the head of the table.

"Everyone's reviewed the mission briefing," he said. It was not a question, but a statement. He knew his officers were professional enough to have reviewed the materials immediately upon receipt.

"Data," Picard prompted.

As science officer for the Enterprise, Data was responsible for missions like this one.

"Yes, Captain," Data said. He stood and moved to the viewer at the end of the room. He activated the viewer as the rest of the officers turned to watch the screen comfortably.

"As you know," Data began, "A Vulcan long range science probe has recently discovered a 'distortion' in the Beta Quadrant. Although traveling to the Beta Quadrant is extremely dangerous due to potential lingering Dominion ships, Starfleet is recommending that the Enterprise investigate this phenomena."

"Distortion?" Geordi asked. "What sort of distortion?"

"As best as the Vulcan probe could detect, the distortion is similar to a temporal displacement."

"Temporal," Dr. Crusher said. "You mean like time travel?"

"Yes, Doctor," Data said.

"You said, 'similar to'," Riker said. "How is it different?"

Data explained, "The Vulcan probe returned sensor readings that are consistent with a localized temporal anomaly, but it also found evidence of an interdimensional interphase."

Picard jumped in, "Due to the danger, Starfleet is assigning the Defiant to join us. They feel that this crew, and some of the Deep Space Nine crew, have enough scientific experience to handle the study of the distortion. They also feel that the Enterprise and Defiant are powerful enough and fast enough to deal with any Dominion interference."

"I'm not up on current quantum and temporal theories," Dr. Crusher said. She scrolled through the data display on the PADD in her hand, but the look on her face told everyone in the room that she was perplexed by what she was reading. "Can someone explain this distortion in plain terms?" 

Data continued, "This distortion seems to be coming from one of the adjoining universes."

The existence of multiple universes had been an accepted concept in the Federation for at least the last two hundred years. The crew of the original Enterprise had proved the existence of at least one "mirror" universe nearly a hundred years ago. Captain James T. Kirk and several of his crew accidentally transferred into the mirror universe while transporting during an ion storm. Since then, the transfer had been duplicated several times using transporter technology.

Likewise, the existence of temporal distortions and time travel had been known for almost the same amount of time.

"But not ours?" Picard asked.

"No."

"How can a temporal displacement in one universe cause problems in another?" Dr. Crusher asked.

"Normally, it shouldn't," Geordi said.

"Right," Data agreed. "That's what worried Starfleet Science."

"Data, could you provide us a brief synopsis on current temporal theory?" Riker asked. He hoped that the redundant use of 'brief' and 'synopsis' would clue Data into being concise. Riker looked at Picard and smiled, expectedly.

"Yes, Commander," Picard said. "A refresher course might benefit us all."

Data nodded awkwardly. Although he had progressed over the years in his attempts to mimic human behavior, he sometimes still had problems with common mannerisms. Data paused for a moment, motionless. It seemed obvious to everyone around the table that temporal theory was complex enough to require even Data a moment or two to collect his thoughts regarding the matter.

Data began, "Current Federation theory is based largely on the work of Vulcan and Andorian scientists in the last century. And our best theories are continually updated when new information comes to light. No doubt that is why Starfleet wants the Enterprise and the Defiant on this mission."

He didn't have to explain any further. Everyone already the table understood that Data was referencing their own recent journey into the past as well as the Defiant's recent encounter with the Bajoran Orb of Time. Captain Sisko and his crew had traveled back in time almost one hundred years and had prevented a plot by a rouge Klingon to kill the legendary Captain Kirk.

"The flow of time is complex and not well understood. Common thought is that time proceeds 'forward,' much like the water in a river or stream flows downstream. For this reason, many temporal theorists refer to the flow of time as the 'timestream.' If you throw a stone into the river, it may cause a splash, but basically does not interfere with the flow of water downstream. There are some 'ripples' in the immediate vicinity of the splash, but generally the flow of the river is not disturbed."

Data paused to look around the room. Everyone was listening intently.

"However, if you throw a large boulder into the river, it may displace enough water to cause the river to overflow its banks. In some cases, the entire course of the river may change. In the 'timestream' any action might cause a similar disturbance. This is the reason Federation scientific and Starfleet policy is so strict about time displacement. There have been previous incidents involving Starfleet personnel that showed the possible impact of even 'innocent' intervention with the timestream."

"Because of the obvious effects on current history, all of the incidents are highly classified."

"Needless to say, we all have the necessary security clearances," Riker pointed out. They had the clearances because of their own temporal experiences.

Data continued. "The most famous incident occurred nearly one hundred years ago when Captain Kirk and two members of his crew, including Ambassador Spock, then Commander Spock, traveled into Earth's past. Dr. Leonard McCoy, Kirk's chief medical officer, prevented the death of a woman. In our history, this woman died and had no apparent effect on subsequent events. However, in the alternate history that resulted from that action, Nazi Germany won World War II and dominated the post-war era."

"How did they travel back?" Geordi asked.

"Even I don't know that. The exact circumstances of the incident are classified at an even higher security level," Data explained.

Although he didn't say anything, Picard was the only person on the Enterprise that knew the answer to that question. He had been privy to the information about the so-called "Guardian of Forever." Kirk and his crew on the original Enterprise had discovered the remains of an impossibly ancient race. Amidst the ruins, a large stone torus still stood intact. Although Starfleet had studied the artifact for the last century, the brightest minds in the Federation were still at a lose to explain how the Guardian worked or who built it, or even if it was a machine or a being.

Even though time travel was available to almost any Star Fleet vessel through a controlled, but risky, manipulation of the space-time continuum around a star by the ship's warp engines, the highest levels of Starfleet Command insisted that the Guardian remain a closely guarded secret. Travel to any point in time and any point in the universe was available simply by asking the Guardian. Command determined that it was just too easy to alter history by this means and continued to quarantine the Guardian Planet.

The discussion continued. "How would a single woman's death cause such a change?" Troi asked.

"This is where the analogy with the river changes. A stone thrown into the river causes ripples that gradually dissipate. An event in the timestream may cause subsequent changes. Changes that in turn cause other changes. A possible analogy would be multiple diverging Klingon 'ta peq' sticks. Ta peq sticks are similar to the ancient Earth game of dominoes. As each stick falls, it knocks down one or more adjacent sticks."

"In the instance Kirk and his crew encountered, the woman was a key figure in the isolationist movement that was present in the United States of America at that time. This movement advocated the political and economic isolation of that country at that point in history. The woman's influence apparently was enough to delay the United States' entry in the war. Without the military power of the United States, Germany won the war and changed history from that point forward."

"Okay, I can see how a change in the timestream could occur," Riker said. "But how could a disruption in one universe effect another universe?"

"As most of us are aware from personal experience, the changes in the timestream can cause alternate 'realities' within the universe. Same universe, but different circumstances, different events. Similar to what happened with Lt. Worf when his shuttle collided with the temporal rift and we encountered multiple versions of this ship," Data continued. 

Data paused, finished with his briefing, but waiting for questions. Picard looked around the table. He was sure they all had lots of questions, but the questions could wait. "Thank you, Commander," Picard said.

He sat up straight and tugged at his uniform tunic. "Our mission orders are to approach the distortion and study it," he said. "Currently, the distortion appears stable, but Starfleet Science is concerned with potential treats the distortion might cause galaxy-wide. If it expands, it could disrupt sub-space transmissions, interfere with shipping, and destroy planetary ecologies."

"Obviously, this is something critical," Picard said. He turned to Data. "If I understand the mission briefing, there's concern amongst some of Starfleet Science that the distortion may have originated in another universe."

"Yes," Data replied. "If current theory is correct, a massive enough event in an adjacent universe might cause something like this."

"You mean this sort of thing could happen?" Geordi couldn't believe what he was hearing. As Chief Engineer for the Enterprise, Lt. Commander La Forge was well versed in matter/anti-matter reactions, warp field theory, and sub-space. He thought he understood some of the most destructive forces in the universe. His mind boggled at the thought of any force powerful enough to destroy entire universes.

Data nodded grimly.

Riker broke the silence that enveloped the table as the officers considered what they'd just heard. "And what does Q have to do with this?"

* * *

### Wayne Manor, just outside Gotham City

Alfred went about his normal morning routine. The master of the house hadn't returned from last night's excursion, but Alfred wasn't too worried. There were many times Master Bruce hadn't returned before sunrise. Sometimes, he was just too tired to make it home and he'd crash for a couple hours at one of several "safe houses" he maintained around the city. Other times, he had early morning meetings at Wayne Enterprises and went directly to the office.

The dedicated butler retrieved the stack of area newspapers from the front gate of the mansion. On the way into the house, he glanced at the front page of each to see if anything required Master Bruce's attention.

He flipped through the Gotham and Metropolis newspapers and stopped at the New York Times. One the front page of the Old Grey Lady, there was a story about the Lion's Soul gem being stolen. Again.

Well, Alfred told himself, that no doubt explains why Master Bruce hasn't arrived home yet. He's still chasing Catwoman.

In the mansion, Alfred sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and began a more leisurely perusal of the newspapers. He was through most of the papers when he picked up the New York Herald. Alfred didn't consider the Herald as a newspaper in the same class as the Daily Planet or the New York Times, but it sometimes covered stories, seedy stories, that the other newspapers wouldn't cover. Stories that had meaning the Master Bruce.

Alfred stopped on page 38. Tucked in a corner of the page, hidden beneath a number of advertisements was a brief article about a mysterious explosion that occurred near Sotheby's. Sotheby's was the auction house from where the gem had been stolen.

He didn't have his employer's knack for detective work, but something about the article gave Alfred a bad feeling. Somehow, the explosion was connected to the gem being stolen. He didn't know why he knew this; he just did.

The butler went back through the other New York newspapers. Nothing about this explosion. It must have either occurred too late for the story to have made the editorial deadline, or it was considered just to sensational for the other, more respectable newspapers.

He went into the great hall of the mansion. An antique grandfather clock stood against the far wall. Alfred walked resolutely walked to the clock and opened it's glass face. He then moved the hands to 11:05. The time was significant--it was at 11:05 pm that Master Bruce's parents had been killed.

When the hands of the clock were set to 11:05, a hidden mechanism was tripped and the clock slide out on coasters to reveal a likewise hidden entrance. The butler walked through the entrance and once inside, the clock resumed it's position.

The entrance lead through a solid rock stairwell to the series of caves deep under the mansion. This was were Master Bruce kept all his equipment and from which he headquartered his night time activities.

Alfred went to his own office. He often assisted Master Bruce in organizing the various information and had his own office space in the cave. The office was decorated in tasteful wood paneling and antique brass; the room looked like a British gentleman's club.

He sat at the desk and started up the PC. He checked several Internet news sources; nothing relating to the explosion. There were, however, a number of stories about the lost gemstone. The theft of the gemstone was obviously newsworthy due to its connection to Princess Diana. At least two of them indicated that a woman matching Catwoman's description was seen running from Sotheby's after the theft.

Several of the articles cited a missing British government official. The man, one James Bond, was supposed to have been overseeing the protection of the gemstone. But Mr. Bond was missing, as was the gemstone. Some news sources were speculating that Bond may have been involved with the theft.

Alfred frowned. This isn't good, he thought to himself. In a former life, he'd served in MI6, the British Secret Service. He still had friends in the successor organization, the Secret Intelligence Service. He didn't know Bond, but he'd heard stories. And everything he'd heard said that Bond wouldn't be involved in something like this.

First the gemstone is missing. Then Bond is missing. And still no word from Master Bruce. "Curiouser and curiouser," Alfred mumbled, quoting Lewis Carol.

He activated the instant message program on the PC and typed in a code known only to himself and Master Bruce. A moment later, a stylized picture appeared on the screen and a voice came over the PC's speaker.

"Hello, Oracle here," the disembodied voice said.

"Yes, Mistress Oracle, this is Batman's assistant," Alfred spoke into the microphone that rested in front of the PC screen. He didn't know the identify of the person at the other end, but Master Bruce did. All Alfred knew was that Oracle was part of the extended family of people that Master Bruce sometimes associated with in his life's mission. And if Master Bruce trusted this individual then so did Alfred.

"I recognized the voice," Oracle said. "What can I do for you?"

"I have reason to believe Batman may have come by some foul play in New York City. I was wondering if you have any additional information concerning the theft of the Lion's Soul gem from Sotheby's or a mysterious explosion that occurred in that general neighborhood shortly thereafter?" Alfred explained.

"Give me a few minutes," Oracle said and mysteriously disconnected the link.

Alfred waited. He considered calling Master Dick, now known as Nightwing, but thought better of it. No sense involving Dick Grayson in this whole mess until he knew more. He also thought about calling his friend Boothroyd. Surely the Armourer of the SIS would know what happened to one of their agents? Again, he decided not to call until he knew something.

The Oracle icon reappeared on the PC screen.

"I have some information," the voice said.

"Yes?" Alfred asked.

"There are reports of an explosion occurring in that neighborhood. The New York Metropolitan Police took a report from a number of people, including Metropolis Daily Planet reporter Lois Lane. They claimed to have seen Catwoman, Batman, and two other men disappear in a flash of light. The police are investigating, but so far have no evidence. Apparently this 'explosion' made a lot of noise, but no actual destruction. Mayor Giuliani has issued a statement disputing any terrorist acts."

"I see," Alfred said.

"There's also an unconfirmed report that one of the people missing is a low ranking British government assigned to guard the gemstone that was stolen last night from Sotheby's. There is considerable communications traffic between New York and London this morning. Although the SIS hasn't made a statement, I have it on good authority that they do not suspect their agent of being involved in the theft."

"Thank you," Alfred said, and he disconnected the link. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his temple with one hand. He thought for a minute and decided to go ahead and contact Nightwing. If nothing else, Master Dick could investigate directly.

* * *

### A secret location, somewhere in Gotham City

Oracle terminated the link with Batman, or rather with Batman's assistant. All she knew about the link was that it had come in with Batman's ID code. But the voice wasn't his. It was the British voice that sometimes answered when she called.

Barbara Gordon, Oracle to many of the superheroes of the world, shifted in her wheelchair. What she hadn't told her recent caller was that both Batman and Superman had so far neglected to respond to a JLA signal. She didn't know if Superman was somehow involved in the explosion, but it wasn't like him to not respond to a signal.

Barbara activated her own JLA signal and was instantly connected with Jon Jonzz, the Martian Manhunter.

"Oracle," Jon said.

"Jon, I think we have a problem," Barbara, Oracle to her JLA companions, said.

* * *


	7. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 7

Batman awoke slowly. His first impression was of awkwardness; he'd fallen such that one arm was stretched out above him and his legs were curled underneath. He was almost bent over backward. He felt a sharp scratch on his face under the cowl.

He moved his head slightly and felt the pain go away. His vision was blurry; but he focused slowly on a mass of thorns. His first thought was that he was caught in another of Pamela Isley's plant traps. "Poison Ivy," as she was called by the press, had the unique power to manipulate plants. More than once, she'd ensnared him with plant mutations.

As he became more awake, he remembered the shrill noise. And the chase right before. Catwoman had stolen the Lion's Soul gem from the auction house and he had chased her. And the British guy was there. And the alien.

Batman shook his head. The residual dizziness began to fade. He remembered more clearly now. Catwoman had run down the alley trying to escape and had run right into Clark and his wife. Batman still didn't have a clue why Superman, in his civilian identify of Clark Kent, was in New York, but that had been the case.

Clark had grabbed Catwoman by one hand and the gem by the other.

They had all been standing there, arguing over the British gentleman's claim that he could arrest Catwoman. Batman hadn't had a chance to review the man's credentials, but it was obvious by the way he handled a gun and by the way he fought, he was a professional. Kent's wife had called the guy "Bond." Probably MI5 or MI6, Batman thought. Someone babysitting the gemstone after the theft attempt in Gotham.

Batman tried to move; he discovered a few sore muscles, but no apparent injuries. He moved his legs and shifted his weight. It was dark. He pulled a flashlight from his utility belt and turned it on. He discovered him in a bed of cactus. That explains the thorns, he thought to himself.

He slowly extracted himself from the plant. His Kevlar costume and cape protected him from the sharp quills of the plant.

It was intensely dark, no street lights or other sources of artificial lights. Batman looked up. The moon had not risen yet, but there were plenty of stars. With a clear sky and without the light pollution from a nearby city, they were absolutely stunning. The sky looked like a carpet of gemstones.

He had no idea how he ended up here, but wherever here was, it wasn't near New York City or Gotham.

Batman walked around a moment, trying to stretch his sore legs. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but it had been for at least a half hour or more. He knew from long experience exactly how long it took for his legs to cramp up. A large part of his life was to crouch in the shadows and stake out a suspect--he knew exactly how long it took for the muscles to tighten and stiffen from inactivity.

He determined that he was in a wilderness area. Yucca trees and sage brush scrub, and the occasional cactus patch, covered the area. He was somewhere in the Southwest.

How the hell did I get here? he wondered. Did Superman fly him here? If so, to serve what purpose.

He reached into a pocket of his utility belt and pulled out a small electronic device. The device was an electronic map of Gotham City. The map would be useless here, but the device had an electronic compass and GPS built into it as well.

The GPS function was flashing "no signal." Somehow, it couldn't pick up beacon signal from one of the 24 Global Positioning System satellites that orbited the Earth. The electronic compass gave him a reading to North. Batman looked in the sky and easily found Polaris, the North Star. The compass appeared to be functioning correctly. At the very least, he knew which way was north. But this information was practically useless without a clearer idea of where he was.

He knew from the plants around him that he was somewhere in the Southwest--New Mexico, Arizona, or Southern California, possibly Southern Nevada or Southern Utah, and possibly as far south as northern Mexico. There were a number of sub-species of yucca, but all of them were native to only North America. The most common types were most the Joshua tree, western Spanish bayonet, and mission bell, all of which simply didn't grow anywhere else in the world. And from the height of Polaris above the horizon, he guessed that he was somewhere about the latitude of Los Angeles or Phoenix.

Batman turned off the electronic map and put it back into its compartment in his belt. He then pulled the small two-way radio from its compartment. The radio allowed him to send the car remote control commands as well as handle voice communications. He normally used heavily encrypted channels seldom used in the US. This helped avoid eavesdroppers. But the radio was capable of being tuned to more conventional channels as well. He set the radio to scan-mode and let it run for a few minutes.

The radio automatically shifted up through all the frequencies, stopping for a few seconds at each increment. If it detected a strong signal on any frequency, the radio would stop and allow him to listen to the signal to determine if it was something of interest. The radio only discovered static.

While listening to the radio, Batman then pulled out the slim pair of night-goggles from their compartment. Although he had excellent night vision and had taught himself to navigate with very little visible light, the goggles turned night into day. They were similar to the goggles used by the military for night maneuvers. The goggles had miniature TV cameras in place of lenses. The TV cameras were tuned to infrared wavelengths. The insides of the goggles had tiny video screens. The screens showed exactly what the cameras saw.

All objects gave off some level of heat as infrared radiation. The image through the goggles was a distortion of what you'd see without them, but useful for seeing at night.

Now wearing the goggles, Batman slowing turned around, carefully looking all around him. He saw a few small "hot spots" which were probably animals in the brush around him, but he saw nothing that resembled houses, buildings, cars, or other signs of people.

By the time he'd finished his reconnaissance of the terrain, Batman had decided that he must be outside the range of any radio signals. The radio had detected nothing but static on all of its frequencies. That seemed odd--even in the most remote portions of the Earth, there were still stray signals from atmospheric bounce, or from satellites, or from remote navigation stations. But he acknowledged that he'd designed the device to work in an urban environment and it just didn't pickup all frequencies.

He turned off the radio to conserve its batteries. He'd noticed a hill to the west during his 360-degree turn. He struck out for the hill--perhaps the increased elevation would allow him to see further and possibly spot some sight of civilization.

* * *

The walk up the hill had been quick and almost effortless. It had taken Batman only about 15 minutes to reach the highest point of the hill.

He repeated his 360-degree surveillance of the area. The night-vision goggles allowed him to spot a distant light; given the remoteness of the area, he guessed it was perhaps a small ranch house. The rangefinder built into the goggles had problems focusing on the light. It was too indistinct to allow a definitive reading, and since he normally worked in an urban environment, Batman had calibrated the rangefinder to work most accurately only up to about 1,000 meters. Batman took the goggles off and spotted the light without them. He estimated the building, whatever it was, to be about 3 miles away.

The moon had come up over the eastern horizon. It was a slender sliver, not even a quarter moon. Batman immediately realized something was wrong; the moon had been nearly full in New York. He'd noted that while waiting on the rooftop across from Sotheby's.

The limited light from the nearly new moon didn't hinder the Dark Knight Detective. He struck off in the direction of the light and easily found his way through the bush. He occasionally stopped, and listened carefully. He heard a coyote crying far in the distance. Otherwise, the night was silent.

Because of the strangeness of the situation, he decided that discretion was the plan for now. He didn't know where he was, or even how he'd gotten here. He didn't know what the light was in the distance. It could be an innocent rancher's home, or some covert government installation. He didn't know if it was somehow linked to his sudden and unexpected transport from New York.

Either way, the darkness of the nearly moonless night and color of his costume gave him the advantage. He moved as quietly as he could, and he kept his guard up.

* * *

He met no one on the approach to the light. The night was still and quiet. Batman stopped several times, the last on a small rise above the slight valley where the light was. From here, he'd crouched beside a yucca tree and surveyed the area with the night-vision goggles.

The light turned out to be a burning torch beside the gate of a walled village. The buildings inside appeared to be made of adobe, which further evidenced that he was somewhere in the American Southwest.

Inside the walled village, he could make out a church, a stable, and a number of other buildings. By the size of the village and the number of buildings, Batman estimated that possibly 400 people lived here.

The whole thing looked like something out of a movie. Or the history books. It looked like the typical Spanish mission community the Catholic Church and the Kingdom of Spain had established in the 18th century along the coast of California. He knew of no where in the US where such a community might still exist.

Such a community might exist on a movie lot. And many of the original Spanish missions still existed in California, but were now surrounded by major cities like Los Angeles and San Diego.

It was possible, he guessed, that some parts of Mexico where still rural enough that there might still exist small villages like this, but he didn't know of any.

As he continued to watch the sleepy little village, he heard a distant noise. He scanned the surrounding area with the goggles. Eventually, he made out a heat signature. Something was approaching the village from his right; he could now tell that there was obviously some sort of dirt road. It had been hidden previously by the angle of his approach and the high yucca.

He stayed crouched down beside the bush and watched intently. The heat signature resolved itself to a horse and rider. The rider veered off the road before reaching the gate of the village. Instead, the rider swung wide and came up beside a low portion of the village wall.

Although he couldn't tell for sure, Batman took the rider to be male by the way the rider carried themselves. Plus the fact that it just didn't seem likely that a woman would be riding around such a remote area at night. But then, there are women like Catwoman, he reminded himself.

The horse stopped. Batman watched through the goggles as the man steadied the horse and then, unexpectedly, stood up on the saddle--balancing carefully on the back of the horse. Batman was impressed. The horse was obviously very well trained and its rider very skilled.

Using the height of the horse to gain the advantage, the man vaulted to the top of the village wall. He didn't quite make it, but he did catch the top with both arms and scaled over the wall with little effort.

Batman was uncertain about why he was here, or even where "here" was, but he recognized suspicious behavior when he saw it. He'd trained himself for most of his life to fight this sort of thing. He paused for several seconds, weighing the options: involve himself versus continued caution and learning more about where he was, why he was here, how did he get here, and how to get home. His decision came quickly and he left his hiding place and begin moving toward the village.

He stayed behind the yucca plants as much as possible. There was no breeze in the cool night, so he didn't worry too much about having to stay downwind of the horse. He wouldn't be able to surprise the intruder if he spooked the horse.

He approached to within about thirty feet of the wall and remained crouched low. His dark cape draped over him and he remained invisible to the animal. He waited the the beast's master to return.

While waiting, he slipped the goggles back into their compartment in the belt. He didn't know how long he'd be here. And the area seemed to primitive--he didn't imagine that he'd be able to replace or recharge the batteries.

After about ten minutes, he began to hear sounds from inside the village. The sound of voices raised in alarm. The voices sounded like Spanish. That helped Batman decide that he was somehow in Mexico, possibly Baja California.

The voices continued; an occasional shout, the sound of running feet. The horse shifted nervously at the sound of the commotion. Batman watched the beast for a moment. It was a jet black stallion, strong and muscular, obviously a fast runner. Although it looked ready to sprint faster than the wind at the least provocation, it remained in the spot its master had left it. A very well trained beast.

A few minutes later, Batman heard a scuffle against the wall. He assumed his prey was returning, ready to crawl back over the wall and onto the horse. No doubt to make his escape after robbing the innocent villagers.

Batman saw the man come back over the wall. He was also dressed in black. He wore a broad brimmed hat, and a short cape of satin or silk. Unlike Batman's own longer cape, the material of the man's cape shimmered slightly in the pale light of the slender moon. There was a glint of steel--the man was wearing some sort of sword.

Just as the man prepared to drop onto the waiting horse's back, Batman rushed from his hiding place. Contrary to its training, the sudden appearance of the Dark Knight Detective startled the beast and the horse started to move forward.

The man dropped heavily to the ground where the horse had previously stood. "Tornado, stay!" the man shouted in Spanish. The horse obeyed it's master and stopped moving. To Batman's ears, the man's voice sounded more like a Castilian accent than a Mexican one.

The man rose and the sword was in his hand in a flash. "You think to catch the fox, Senor? I think not."

Batman wrapped his arm in his Kevlar cape and rushed the man. The man tried to parry with the sword, but the flexible blade couldn't cut the bullet-resistant cloth. Using the cape, Batman ensnared the blade with his Kevlar wrapped right arm and gave the man a hard upper cut with his left. The man staggered, but didn't fall. He was a tough customer, but Batman had fought tougher.

"There he is!" came a shout from the top of the wall, also in Spanish. "Si, shoot him!" another voice yelled.

Batman looked up to see several men in some sort of uniform raising what appeared to be muskets at him and the man he was fighting. He might be a crook, Batman thought, but no need to see him shot. He raised his cape and shielded both of them.

The roar of the muskets filled the air, along with a flash of light. Several projectiles hit the Kevlar cape, but none of them struck either Batman or the escaping thief.

The man twisted in Batman's grasp. "Senor, it is time to say 'adios.' The fox never gets caught, no? The people would morn their hero and who would protect them from Alcalde de Soto?"

A sudden thought came to Batman. Was it possible that this man was some sort of costumed crusader or vigilante. Was it possible that this man was like himself?

He glanced over his shoulder and saw the men were about finished reloading the primitive muskets. He decided that it would be easier to deal with the man singly rather than the man and his pursuers. Batman eased his hold on the man and the man snatched up the sword and then ran for the horse. Batman followed closely.

The two men vaulted onto the back of the horse almost as one. The horse staggered under the extra weight, but was strong. The beast sprung forward as its master flicked the reins and spurred its flanks. Batman squeezed his legs as hard as he dared to keep his balance and held the man as they fled through the night.

* * *

The two men in black rode through the night in silence. Even burdened by the extra weight of the second rider, the horse continued its swift gait. The beast's master had steered them back to the road where Batman first saw them. After about twenty minutes, the man reined in the horse and turned to see if they were being pursued. There appeared to be no one following them. Batman thought it highly unlikely given the early hour and the darkness.

He slid off the back of the horse, but quickly reached forward to grab the reins from the man. Before the man could react, Batman had the reins and was controlling the beast directly from the bit. As Bruce Wayne, he'd sometimes played polo--purposely inept. Not a master horseman, but expert enough.

The man jumped off the horse. By his body language, Batman expected him to strike out. For the first time since they first encountered each other, they could see each other fully, even in the darkness.

"So, my friend," the man said, "If I could be so bold as to inquire, what do you call yourself?"

"I'm Batman," Batman said. He had to think for a moment about the translation, "I call myself 'Hombre del palo'," he said in Spanish.

"Ah, an Ingles, by the sound of it," the man said. He stepped back and removed his hat. A deep bow and a flourish followed, "I am El Zorro."

The Fox, Batman thought. He sized up the man, this Zorro. He was almost as tall as himself, but not quite as heavily muscled. He wore a black hat, black shirt, black pants, and a short silk cape. The cape only covered his shoulders. The hat was a broad rimmed gaucho with a ring of silver ornaments around the brim. Over the pants Zorro wore black leather chaps and a fencing sword hung from a scabbard at his belt. The sword looked like a saber Batman thought, but not a blunt one like that used for modern fencing. Even through the Kevlar, he'd felt how sharp the weapon was when he'd grabbed it earlier. The chaps, belt, and scabbard were all decorated with rich, but tasteful, silver fixtures. Under the hat, the man wore a bandana tied around the top of his head, but pulled down over his eyes. Eye holes cut in the bandana showed bright, intelligent eyes. A thin black mustache followed the line of his upper lip.

Zorro likewise studied the Englishman. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the man in almost total black; this "man who was a bat." Or was it meant to be "the bat who was a man"? The man's cape hung nearly to the ground and was of such darkest black that the Bat-man almost disappeared into the night. The hood the Bat-man wore covered most of his face and the sides of the hood even had pointed "ears" much as a bat's ears.

Zorro casually moved forward and took the reins from this Bat-man. "And this is Tornado," he explained, giving the horse an affectionate pat on its neck. The horse was slick with sweat, having ridden hard under an unexpectedly heavy load of two riders. "What brings you to the pueblo de Los Angeles?"

*Pueblo* de Los Angeles? Batman thought. Los Angeles hadn't been called that since at least the time Mexico ceded their California territory to the United States in the mid-nineteenth century.

"I'm a...traveler," Batman lied. "I seem to have become lost," he said, in Spanish.

"You speak our language quite well, for an Ingles," Zorro commented. "And you have a hard fist," he said, rubbing his chin. "I would recommend the inn at the pueblo, but after our quick exit, I'm afraid the Alcalde's militia might frown on our return."

"And why were you in such a hurry to leave?" Batman asked. He hadn't seen this Zorro with any items that might have been stolen from the pueblo, but then again, he could have had other reasons for stalking around the village in a mask in the depths of the night.

Zorro shrugged. "Yesterday was tax collection day. The Alcalde's men left many of the peasants without enough to feed their families or buy seed for next season's crops. I...liberated some of the taxes and made a 'contribution' to the church. The padres' will ensure that the people are cared for."

Ah, Batman thought. This area's version of Robin Hood. Or Catwoman. The Feline Fatale often stole for herself, but Batman had enough evidence on her to know that she sometimes shared her ill-gotten earnings with some of Gotham's less fortunate. And this "Alcalde" must be this area's version of the Sheriff of Nottingham.

"I've lost track during my travels," Batman said. "Can you tell me what the date is?"

Zorro eyed the other man cautiously. "It is eighteen hundred and six in the year of our Lord. The date is March 2nd. Was March 2nd, actually. Today must be March 3rd. The moon has risen, it must be after midnight."

1806, Batman thought. How the hell did that happen? His self-appointed mission was to rid Gotham City of crime, but in his career, Batman had encountered a number of strange things. He'd not only meet aliens from ancient Mars and extinct Krypton, but considered them friends and colleagues. He'd met women that could control plants with the merest thought, and others with the command of magic at a simple spell spoken backwards. He knew men that could run nearly as fast as light and others that claimed to have lived for a millennium.

How had he traveled backward in time? Batman considered the options. Flash claimed to have the power if he traveled fast enough. Green Lantern likewise claimed that the power ring had the capability. Neither of them were in New York at the time he'd been chasing Catwoman. He thought briefly about the possibility of his JLA team members using their supposed powers of time travel to find him. But he dismissed those thoughts. His more immediate concerns were centered around survival in this primitive era.

"Yes, thank you, senor," Batman said absently. He was still lost in thought. Could he trust this masked vigilante? If he truly was in the early 19th century, it was a different time. A time when a man's word was his honor. He decided to take the risk. He slid off the cowl and looked at Zorro squarely.

"Zorro, I need your help."

"Si, senor. You seem to be quite lost. Pueblo de Los Angeles is a very small village and very far from Britain."

"Senor, I'm not actually an Englishman," Batman said. Obviously his "accent" sounds English to the Spaniard.

"Perhaps the English colonies then?"

English colonies? Batman wondered. Granted the news moved slow in 1806, but surely the founding of the United States would have been known in Spanish California.

"Actually, I'm from the United States."

"What are these 'United States'?" Zorro asked.

Batman responded, "The English colonies on the other side of this continent broke away from England and have declared themselves a new nation."

"Such news hasn't arrived to Alta California, senor," Zorro responded. "But we get very few travelers here. It's been several months since the last ship arrived from Spain."

Surely news didn't travel that slowly, Batman thought. By 1806, the news of the United States' purchase of the Louisiana Purchase should have reached even the furthest reaches of the Spanish Empire. Let alone the formation of the US. After all, the Revolutionary War had ended almost 25 years before. And Spain had even allied itself with France and declared war against the British near the end of the war.

Unless...a frightening thought came to the Dark Knight Detective. Suppose this was not just a case of time travel, but suppose this world had a similar, but different history from his own. Batman had once heard Superman and Green Lantern discussing the possibilities of "alternate universes." The most preeminent physicist of the day, Stephen Hawking of Cambridge University, had even suggested the possibility.

He preferred being in control, being in Gotham City; an urban environment where he knew everything and had some a sense of independence. Here, he felt powerless--given this, the decision to trust the other man and ask for his help was easy to make.

Batman reached into his utility belt and pulled out a one ounce gold bar. It was part of his emergency money stash. He would have offered the coins, but they had dates on them. Dates and the name of a nation that this Spaniard would find improbable. The gold bars, however, only had a serial number stamped in them. The only other writing on them was the raised letters spelling out the name of the Swiss bank that issued them.

He offered the bar to the other masked man. "I can pay you for your assistance."

"Keep your gold," Zorro said. "I will help you. Assisting the unfortunate is what the Fox does." Zorro remounted Tornado and offered his hand to the Dark Knight. "Come. Ride with me," he offered.

"Gracias," Batman said. He grabbed Zorro's hand and vaulted onto the horse.

* * *

After a short ride, Zorro, Batman, and Tornado arrived at a small cave, hidden by a strand of thick brush. Zorro guided the horse into the brush and into the cave, which was outfitted with a stable for Tornado, a workbench, and a fencing practice circle. The cave was lit by several oil lamps.

As the men dismounted, Batman couldn't help but smile when he saw the rustic parallels to his own "bat-cave" headquarters.

Zorro immediately striped the saddle from Tornado and lead the animal into its stall. He began to wipe down the horse while keeping a close eye on his visitor.

Batman politely and casually looked around the cave. He tried to make to threatening moves or attempt to look around for an exit. He realized how he'd feel with visitors to his own cave; he imagined how Zorro must have felt. He didn't want to betray the growing trust with the other man.

He walked to the fencing circle. Batman was more familiar with the Japanese art of Kendo, but knew enough about swordplay to know that the Spanish school of fencing tended toward a circular form instead of the linear form of the French school.

"You know how to use the sword?" Zorro asked. He drew his own sword, and brandished it lightly to limber his arm. In the light of the oil lamps, Batman could make out the weapon better than he could in the darkness of the night. He could see that it was razor sharp at the point.

Batman saw the other sabers hanging on the wall of the cave. He could easily have reached the rack and taken a weapon for himself. But he wasn't in the mood for a test of machismo. "I know the way of the sword," he said. In fact, "kendo" was literally "the way of the sword." "But I prefer something with a little more range." He pulled two of the throwing stars from a pocket in his upper arm and without warning threw them at the post beside Zorro.

The bat-shaped stars were made from knife quality stainless steel and were weighted with slugs of depleted uranium. The were sharpened at each of the points; the bat-ears and the points of the wings were all honed to razor sharpness. The stars weren't lethal, but could be distracting enough to force an opponent to drop his gun, or at least mess up his aim, or to annoy and occupy the opponent enough to allow Batman to move into striking range.

Zorro startled at the unexpected appearance of the stars on the stable post beside him. He looked at the stars and then at his guest. This Bat-hombre moved quickly, Zorro thought. He'd seen few men move with such speed since leaving Spain. The heat of Alta California tended to slow most men down. And the militia in this far corner of the Spanish empire couldn't be called the King's best warriors. What an opponent this man would be, Zorro thought. He thirsted to weigh his steel against such an opponent, to truly test himself as he had at the fencing school in Madrid. But the man was a guest.

Zorro pulled the stars from the post and admired them. "Si, senor, I can see how these would be useful." He carefully gauged the weight of the stars in his hand and attempted to throw them himself. One of the stars embedded itself in another post on the other side of the cave, but the other simply fell to the floor when it didn't strike the post as intended. He shrugged. "Perhaps a bit of practice, and I'll be nearly as good as you?"

"Perhaps," Batman agreed.

Zorro decided that the Englishman was a trustworthy man. Several times now, the Englishman had the chance to best him, but had not. Zorro wondered how he could explain the stranger's appearance. It was rare that anyone traveled by horse or by foot across the great desert to the east. And there had not been a recent ship to the bay west of the pueblo. Perhaps a story about traveling from the north and losing his horse to bandits.

"Come, my new friend. It will be morning soon." Zorro lead Batman into another portion of the cave. It was likewise lit by oil lamps. A bench rested against the wall and a richly appointed upright chest was against the other wall. Hooks hung from holes drilled in the rock walls. Zorro removed his cape and hung the cape and the hat on one of the hooks. He then removed his gloves and dropped them on the bench.

The Spaniard removed his bandana and ran his hand through the sweat-slick hair underneath. "You shall be a honored guest of the De la Vega hacienda." He wiped his hand on a towel that hung from one of the hooks.

He extended his hand. "I am Diego de la Vega, son of Don Alejandro."

Batman removed the glove from his own hand. He extended his bare hand and took that of the Spaniard. "I am pleased to meet you, Don Diego. I'm Bruce Wayne."

* * *


	8. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 8

Clark Kent awoke with a start. He realized he wasn't breathing. His Kryptonian physiology didn't require him to breathe as often as a human being, but he still needed oxygen. He tried drawing a breathe and inhaled a nose and mouth full of dirt instead.

He braced his arms and pushed himself out of the ground. He'd somehow landed in such a way as to drive his head into the ground, much like the cartoon image of an ostrich. The soil around him showed the force of the impact; his shoulders created a six-inch deep depression.

Still dazed, he sat up, spit out the dirt that filled his nose and month, and several deep breaths. His first coherent thought was that no one else could have survived such a landing. He realized immediately that something had happened. Something apparently connected with that shrill sound he'd heard right after grabbing Catwoman. He'd sensed something about the gemstone he'd snatched up from the cat burglar.

Clark looked at his hand. The palm where he'd held the gem was burnt. He stared in disbelief at the injury. He was Superman. He was invulnerable. How could the gemstone have burnt him?

Catwoman had held the gem safely a few moments before. He didn't remember it burning him, but somehow it had. He was concentrating on the shrill noise, but he'd vaguely remembered the gemstone glowing after he'd grabbed it.

He wondered if the gemstone had been some form of kryptonite. Kryptonite was the one substance that affected him. Its radiation was harmful to humans only after long exposure, but it had an almost immediate effect on him. No, he decided, it wasn't kryptonite. Clark didn't feel weak like he would after an exposure to kryptonite. And besides, the gem was a pale yellow color. All the kryptonite he'd ever seen had been a dull greenish color.

But he decided that the gem must have been more than a simple gemstone. It must have been mystical in nature. Or it had some other sort of power. Clark couldn't say for sure, but he instinctively knew that the gem had something to do with why he was here. Wherever "here" was.

He stood up and looked around. He was in a forest. He recognized oak, chestnut, and beech trees. He walked through the trees for a few minutes. As he walked, he brushed his clothes off. His sport coat was scuffed and dirty, but otherwise not damaged. His aura protected clothes close to his body.

His eyes were sensitive to more than just visible light; he could see far more acutely than any human. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was simply a forest.

And he neither saw nor heard anyone around. So, he cautiously floated up above the trees to get a better look around.

From above the height of the trees, Clark could see that he was on a slope, near an ocean or sea to the east. He knew it was east because the sun was only an hour or so above the horizon. The water was in the direction of the sun. To the west was a large mountain. He wasn't sure, but he judged the peak of the mountain to be about 8,000 or more feet high. Its peak was snow-capped, but Clark didn't recognize it. He knew he wasn't anywhere near New York or Metropolis; he would have recognized any such mountain that would have been anywhere near the east coast of the US. 

His thoughts went back to his landing. He wondered where he was, but he was more concerned where Lois was. Lois and the others. If the gemstone had somehow thrown him into this forest, what other damage had it done to the humans. Catwoman, Batman, the gentleman named Bond, and of course, his wife, Lois, could have all been hurt or even killed by such force.

Clark wanted to get back to New York immediately and determine what had happened. But since he didn't knew exactly where he was, he had no idea in which direction to head. He knew that the sun was to the east, having been up only an hour or so.

He decided to head to the sea he'd seen to the east and then follow it's coast until he reached a city or town. Then he could determine where he was; if not specifically by the city, then at least generally, by the language of the people in the city. He'd traveled the world over, both as Superman and as a reporter, and he had picked up a fairly large vocabulary in a number of languages.

He started to remove his coat and shirt, but realized that he didn't have the Superman costume on under his normal clothes. Lois had insisted that this weekend was a vacation and she simply wouldn't permit him to bring the costume along. Without the costume, he had to be more careful about people seeing him flying.

His glasses had apparently been lost in the explosion or whatever force the gem had caused. If not, they had surely been smashed when he landed. He ran his hand through his hair and he could feel his curl had fallen free. As Clark, he combed his hair back; as Superman, he let the curl fall over his forehead. It was a minor thing, but combined with the glasses and the small changes he made in his voice and posture, few people would think that the two men were one in the same.

Clark banked toward the sea. He stayed just above the tree tops, ready to drop to the ground at an instant. He was almost to the coastline and could already smell the salty tang of the sea air when he heard people far below him. He saw a faint trail running through the forest and dropped to the ground on the trail.

He walked casually toward the voices. He'd play a lost tourist if necessary. Depended upon where he was. In a foreign country, that was easy. He'd done it many times while researching stories.

A few moments later, two men came into view. One was tall with broad shoulders and dark, long hair, and dressed in a rough cloth shirt and leather pants. He was even taller than Clark's 6' 3". The other man was shorter, with shorter blonde hair. Both men were clean shaven. They walked with the casual grace of two men who were good friends.

As they got nearer, Clark could hear them talking. The speech sounded like Greek to him, but with an odd accent.

Clark had traveled around the world after graduating from Metropolis University. He'd traveled through most of Europe, including Greece. In his job as a reporter, he'd been to Athens several times. He was a bit rusty speaking Greek, but he had a pretty good grasp of the language. His hearing was better than human also, and he could make out what the two were saying well before they even noticed him.

"Have you been to Thessala before," the smaller man asked, in Greek.

"Of course," the taller man said. "The portal to Olympus is near here, remember?"

Portal to Olympus? Clark wondered. The two men were speaking in Greek. Was it possible that the gemstone knocked him all the way to Greece. That was on the other side of the world from New York!

The two men finally noticed Clark and stopped talking. Their body language changed as they moved closer. They weren't threatening, but they were obviously cautious. They did move with a confidence that bespoke their ability to deal with whatever might come.

Clark made the first move. He raised a hand in the universal gesture of greeting. "Greetings," he said in his rusty Greek.

The taller man stepped forward, "Greetings, stranger. What brings you to Thessala?"

"I'm a traveler," Clark said. "I seem to have lost my way."

The shorter man finally stepped forward, "It's easy to get lost in the forest."

"We're headed to Larissa for the night," the taller man said. "Are you headed to Larissa also?"

"That will do, for now," Clark answered.

"Then join us," the taller man offered. "I'm Hercules and this is Iolaus."

Hercules? Clark thought. It might be a common enough name in Greece. No way this guy could be the mythological Hercules. "I'm Clark."

"'Clark'?" Iolaus said. "That's an interesting name. Where are you from?"

"A distant land," Clark said. "I've traveled far."

"On a pilgrimage, no doubt," Iolaus said.

"A pilgrimage?" Clark asked.

"That's why most people come here. To worship at the shrine of Artemis near Larissa."

Shrine of Artemis? Clark wondered. He didn't think that the old mythological gods were still worshipped, even in Greece. Maybe a throwback to the older religions, like the wiccans in Britain and the US. "Uh, no. I'm not on a pilgrimage."

"Iolaus, it doesn't matter why Clark is here," Hercules said. "Come, friends, let's hurry along to Larissa. I'm hungry."

"So am I," Iolaus agreed. 

* * *

Clark discovered that his wristwatch was destroyed in his landing also. But by the position of the sun in the sky, he judged it was almost three hours before the three men arrived in Larissa.

He hadn't visited Larissa after college, but Clark had visited other similar towns during his travels through Europe and Greece. He was expecting a quaint small city, with paved roads and modern buildings, and electricity, and plumbing. He was surprised when the men arrived at a small village, complete with stone and rough timber huts. A few of the community buildings were constructed completely of stone. The pathways between the buildings, they could hardly be called "streets," were mere packed dirt. Clark had the distinct impression that he'd fallen back into ancient Greece.

Then he had a sudden thought. Maybe he had! He'd traveled through time once before and hadn't relished the thought of doing it again. He knew now roughly where he was, but he'd been intrigued by the conversation with Hercules and Iolaus. He thought perhaps the more he could learn about where he was, the better he could determine why he was here. As soon as he could sneak away from his new found friends, he resolved to head back to New York.

The three men had barely arrived in the village when they were distracted by a commotion. There was a female voice from the center of the village crying for help. Hercules and Clark both reacted instinctively to the sound of someone in distress.

They arrived at the village square to find that a scaffolding around a temple had collapsed. Several large facing stones pinned two young men to the ground.

Hercules rushed to the nearest stone and began to push against it. As he did so, Iolaus pulled the young stoneworker out from under the heavy stone. The young man's leg was clearly crushed.

Clark hurried to the other stone. His enhanced vision allowed him to see that the other stoneworker fallen onto softer soil. He'd been pushed into the ground by the weight of the fallen stone, but he appeared to have no broken bones. No doubt a lot of bruises through, but this young man had fared better than this coworker. Clark studied the situation to determine the best way to move the stone without furthering the young man's injuries.

Hercules dropped the stone he had struggled to lift and rushed to help Clark. Before he could get to the other stone, Clark determined what he thought was the best way of lifting the stone. He placed his hands under one edge of the heavy limestone and easily lifted it.

Hercules looked in amazement at the ease with which Clark lifted the stone, but quickly regained his composure and assisted the young man from under the stone.

The woman that had first yelled came forward to assist the two young men. An elderly man in a toga also came forward to thank the heroes.

"Thank Zeus you were here to help. How can we ever thank you?"

Hercules smiled shyly. "No need to thank us, citizen. We were just glad to help."

"The least we can do is honor you with a feast. What are your names?"

Iolaus spoke up. "This is Hercules," he proudly proclaimed. "And I'm his partner, Iolaus."

"Hercules?" the elderly man asked. "Not *the* Hercules? The son of Zeus?"

"That's the one," Iolaus said. "And this is our new friend, Clark."

The elderly man turned to Hercules and bowed awkwardly. "You honor us, oh, mighty one," the man said with a grave and serious voice.

Hercules blushed. "Please, please. Get up, my friend." He put one hand under the old man's arm and eased him up.

"But you're the son of Almighty Zeus. We must honor you or anger the King of the Gods."

Clark stood to one side and watched this display. He had a aching feeling deep in his stomach. He knew he'd somehow been thrown back in time. Again.

* * *

The village treated the heroes to a large feast. The three couldn't go anywhere in the small village without being offered food, drink, lodging, money, even women and slaves. Clark was impressed with the humility with which Hercules took the adulation.

He was no stranger to this himself. For once, he cherished watching someone else getting all the attention. As Superman, he received fan mail from around the world, was treated with deference wherever he went, and was even worshipped as a god by at least one small cult of misguided souls.

If Hercules truly was the man upon which the myth was based, he was nothing like what Clark expected. The Hercules of myth was a braggart and a bully. This man was nothing like that.

Late that night, Iolaus disappeared with one of the young women that had catered to the three men all day long. Hercules and Clark finally outlasted the rest of the revelers in the tavern. Alone, the two talked over pitchers of wine and plates of food.

"You're very strong," Hercules said. It was a plain statement, not a question.

Clark shrugged. "I grew up on a farm," he said. Not a lie. His implied explanation was that the hard work had developed a strong back and limbs.

Hercules looked at him over the pitcher of watered wine. "I may only be half a god, and I don't have the powers that my father has, but I can tell that you're more than just a strong farmer. The only person I've ever known that could have lifted that stone as easily as you did was one of the Titans."

It took Clark a split second to realize that Hercules was talking of the mythological race of giants. In his time, the Titans were a group of super-powered teenagers and young adults.

Clark chuckled, "I'm not a Titan."

"Well, my friend, whatever you are is your business," Hercules said. "But, Iolaus is suspicious by nature. He thinks you're Ares in disguise."

"Ares?" Clark asked. "The god of war?"

Hercules nodded. "And my half-brother. That's why we're here," he explained. "Ares has a plan to invade Olympus and unseat Zeus as King of the Gods."

"And you mean to stop him?"

"Yes. My father and I don't get along very well, but Ares would plunge the world into endless war if he ever ruled Olympus."

Clark sensed that the man across from him was deadly serious. Nearly as serious as Bruce, he told himself. The thought of storming the home of gods was a little unsettling. This was really more Diana's line, Clark realized. But Wonder Woman isn't here and I am, he told himself. "Do you want some assistance?"

Hercules smiled, "Ares is always a tricky foe. I can use as much help as I can get."

"Then you've got it." Clark reached across the table and clasped the other man's hand. The two squeezed hard, testing each other. Hercules had a strong grip, but it was no match for the Kryptonian's solar powered physique.

"We'll head for Olympus as soon as the rest of the gang gets here," Hercules declared.

* * *

After Hercules headed off to the room the tavern owner insisted they use, Clark walked outside. He was mentally weary from his discovery of his time travel, and from all the festivities, but he didn't need to sleep as much as a normal human being.

He looked around and saw no one else awake. He quietly and quickly launched himself into the air. Hercules sensed somehow that there was more to him than met the eye, but Clark didn't want to let his new allies know everything about his powers.

I've been around Bruce and Jon too much, he told himself as he raised into the still night air. I'm getting paranoid. There had been more than one Justice League of America mission where he and Diana would have preferred to confront their enemies directly. But Batman and Jon Jonzz, the Martian Manhunter, had insisted on holding back at least part of their force, just in case. And several times, the strategy had won the day. Although he was not the official leader of the League, the others often deferred to Superman as a de facto leader. Even the born leaders, like Wonder Woman and Aquaman, deferred to their strongest. But, through hard-learned lessons, the entire group had discovered that their two darkest members were often right in some matters.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Clark felt that there was a reason to not give away too much. If he had been thrown back into time, he didn't want to do anything to alter the future. He knew that if anyone saw him flying or using his infrared vision, he'd no doubt spawn a new mythical hero. No telling what effect that might have on the future. So, for now at least, he would continue to use his powers only in extreme circumstances and in absolute privacy.

He flew to the south and eventually came over several larger cities. He didn't land, but did come low enough to determine that they were as primitive as Larissa. He easily spotted a pristine Acropolis in Athens, but it wasn't the modern city he was familiar with. He turned west and was soon over the "boot" of Italy.

There was a tiny village where Rome should have been.

He continued up the west coast of Italy and then over the Alps and across what in his day would be France. He'd been to Paris numerous times; and knew the major natural landmarks; he found the Seine river easily enough. But no Eiffel Tower, no Champs lyses, no Louvre, no Arc de Triomphe. Only a barbarian camp on the bend of the river where the Bois de Boulogne park should be.

He likewise found no modern London on the other side of the English Channel, and no Metropolis, Gotham City, or New York on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

Heartbroken, Clark turned around and headed back to Larissa and his newfound allies.

* * *

Clark arrived back in Greece barely an hour before sunrise. Not that time was an issue. Most of the village and both Hercules and Iolaus slept in until well after the sun had risen far above the eastern horizon. The townspeople slowly roused themselves and began their daily routines. The two Greek heroes looked somewhat worse for the wear and tear of the celebrations the day before.

The three men ate a simple breakfast of cold bread and hot gruel served to them by the tavern owner.

"Who else is joining us?" Clark asked. He always liked knowing the capabilities of the people around in when a fight broke out. He spent most of his time as Superman as a solo act. He was a lot more like Bruce than he cared to admit. He didn't like having to watch out for other people--it was easier to look out for just himself.

"An old friend," was all Hercules would say.

Iolaus, on the other hand, could hardly contain his excitement. "Xena. Has to be Xena. Right, Herc?"

"Yes, Iolaus. Xena."

Iolaus reminded Clark of an older, more rustic Jimmy Olsen. Yesterday, Iolaus had jumped in to help the stoneworkers just as fast as Hercules or himself, but when no performing heroics, the man seemed to simply enjoy life. Eager to please, always friendly, Iolaus was the perfect sidekick.

"Who's this Xena?" Clark asked.

"She's confronted Ares before. She'll be a good ally to have with us," Hercules explained.

"She?"

Iolaus jumped in, "Oh, don't worry Clark. She's got a stronger sword arm than most men and can fight harder than nearly anyone I know. Except Herc, here."

Hercules said, "Please, Iolaus." He turned to Clark. "You've never fought with a woman warrior before?"

Clark thought about Diana; Wonder Woman. And he thought the other women that had fought in the several different incarnations of the Justice League: Dinah Lance, otherwise known as the Black Canary, Zatanna, Power Girl, and the Crimson Fox. He thought about some of his female adversaries like Luthor's bodyguards, Marcy and Hope, and of course, Maxima. He thought about Maggie Sawyer, his friend and head of the Metropolis Police Department Special Crimes Unit. He even thought about his own feisty wife, Lois.

He chuckled. "Some of the best fighters I know are women," Clark admitted.

* * *

### Somewhere on the road to Larissa

"For Zeus' Sakes," Xena bellowed.

"It's okay, Xena," Gabrielle said. "We're almost to Larissa. I'm sure they have a blacksmith there."

Xena controlled her anger with an effort. She patted Argo behind the horse's ear. "I can't believe you threw a shoe, old friend." The horse snorted and nuzzled his mistress.

She bent down to examine the horse's hooves. The shoe probably should have been replaced weeks ago, but the two had been traveling hard recently. They had received a message from Hercules and it sounded urgent.

"He'll be okay, won't he?" Gabrielle asked.

"Yes," Xena answered. "But we'll have to slow down."

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when the two women arrived in the village of Larissa. Hercules and Iolaus were waiting in the village square. Clark had gone off to assist a couple farmers.

When he returned to town, Clark found his newfound friends eating their evening meal at the tavern.

"Clark, over here," Iolaus yelled from across the room. Clark waved. He saw the two men at a table with two women. But these didn't look like the same sort of women that had been hanging around the last day or so. They looked tired and road-weary. One was dark-haired, with startling blue eyes. The other was a strawberry blonde.

"Clark, this is Xena and Gabrielle," Hercules said.

The dark-haired woman stood and eyed Clark. She was nearly as tall has him and reminded him of Diana.

"This is the guy you were talking about, Iolaus?" Xena demanded. "Doesn't look like much."

Clark assumed she was testing him. Baiting him. "Same could be said for you," he retorted.

The warrior woman pulled her sword from its scabbard faster than Clark would have thought humanly possible. The tavern turned dead silent. The two eyed each other. Clark instantly thought of any number of ways to deflect the sword, but knew he didn't have to. It was only early iron age steel. The edge was honed to a near razor sharpness, but the sword itself would bend if it struck anything too hard.

Xena let out a yell, "Aiyeaaaah!" and swung the sword down and across, intending to cleave Clark in two.

To Clark, the whole scene seemed to move in slow motion. He could see the anger in the woman's eyes, he could see Hercules starting to move to restrain her.

Clark simply raised one hand up and caught the blade of the sword. And then he squeezed it. The blade crumpled in his hand.

And Xena's anger crumpled almost as fast. She stared dumbfounded at her sword as Clark released the blade from his grasp. He hadn't moved, except for his hand, and he still stared into her face.

Xena wasn't sure what impressed her more, the man's ability to stand almost motionless in the face of her attack, or the fact that he'd single-handedly ruined her sword. She dropped the weapon and grabbed the man's hand. It looked like it had been recently burnt and had begun to heal, but otherwise showed no ill effects from her blade. No cuts, not even a crease in the skin.

Gabrielle came up behind Xena. "Well, Iolaus, it looks like this guy *is* everything you said and *more*. You claim he's even stronger than Hercules?"

Oh, great, Clark thought. Now he's bragging about me the way he was bragging about Hercules earlier.

"Please, Clark, was it? Sit down," Gabrielle said. "Hercules was waiting for you to return before telling us about what Ares is up to."

Gabrielle grabbed Clark's arm and guided him to the table. Xena continued to watch him out of the corner of her eyes. The five of them sat at the table and Hercules began to lay it all out.

* * *


	9. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 9

James Bond woke up. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he'd been unconscious.

He sat up. His head felt worse than a headache; it was like someone had opened his skull, taken his brain out, smashed it against a rock, and put it back in his head.

He took a couple deep breathes and his head began to clear. He looked around. He was sitting in a wide open field, scrub brush and tall wild grasses. The sun was beating down on him. It was a hot day. He stood and tested his legs. Bond felt a little wobbly, but otherwise fine.

Bond brushed off his clothes and did a quick assessment. He put his hand into his jacket. The electronic organizer and his cellular phone were still in the right pocket. His wallet and passport were in the left pocket. Under his arm, he felt the PPK. He pulled it out and checked it. It was exactly as it had been when he'd holstered it. There was a full magazine and one in the chamber--8 shots. He reholstered the weapon and felt beneath the holster. The three spare magazines where there--21 rounds of armor piercing .32 caliber ammo.

He mentally ran through the inventory of his other equipment. Sown into the inside of his leather belt, there were a number of gold coins and small gold bars: emergency money for those odd times when an agent might get caught behind unfriendly borders. Gold was just the sort of thing for bribing security guards and double-agents. Unlike currency, it could be spent anywhere. And unlike electronic funds, it was practically untraceable.

He had a survival knife built into the belt's buckle, as well as one in the sole of his right shoe. The heels of both shoes could be removed. There was a small quantity of plastic explosive in the right one and a small timer and detonator in the left heel. The lining of his silk tie was made of a gauzy material that could be used as a fire starter or a bandage. The tie itself could be used as a tourniquet or garrote.

The Rolex on his left wrist had a SIS beacon built into it. In an pinch, Bond had used the watch itself as a set of "brass knuckles."

All in all, he felt fully equipped to handle almost any emergency.

Next order of business was to figure out where he was. The last thing Bond remembered was chasing the costumed cat burglar with the vigilante. The tourists, the big man and his girlfriend or wife, had somehow managed to nap the burglar. Bond was in the process of trying to arrest the burglar when his entire world had turned upside down...and he awoke to find himself here. Wherever that was.

He looked around. He couldn't make out any obvious landmarks. Just endless prairie. He remembered his survival training and his extensive travels. He thought this could be somewhere in the Midwest United States, or possibly the steppes of Russia, maybe even the campos of Brazil or the pampas of Argentina. Basically, he could be anywhere in the world.

Bond thought about the advice Major Boothroyd, the SIS Armourer from "Q" Branch, gave him: "Always have an escape plan."

"Hard to have an escape plan if you don't bloody know where you are," Bond muttered to himself.

How he got here was another question.

Bond remembered the electronic organizer Major Boothroyd had given him. It had a GPS receiver built into it. He quickly dug the device from his jacket pocket and turned it on. He went to the appointment calendar and found the specific date that triggered the GPS function. He traced the stylus on the screen, recreating the symbol the Major had shown him. He had to do it three times before it worked. "Bloody technology," he muttered.

The damn thing's broke, Bond thought. The satellite icon just flashed on and off. Bond couldn't remember exactly what that meant. He tried pressing the question mark icon. He scrolled through the built-in help text to determine that that flashing satellite icon meant that the device couldn't acquire the GPS signal.

How was that possible? Bond wondered. There were twenty four GPS satellites orbiting the earth. At least 12 of them were over any given hemisphere at once. The device only needed to get a signal from three of them to determine his position. The organizer was acting like it couldn't find *any* of the satellites.

He touched the stylus to the Options menu. He scanned through the available commands. Maybe it's just not configured right, Bond thought. Like that time with the word processor when it wouldn't spell check properly. The software had been configured for American English by default, not the proper Queen's English he'd wanted.

One of the options was Signal Source. He noticed that there was two options: GPS or Glonass. Ah, Bond thought, so good of Q to give me options. GPS, or Global Positioning System was the satellite navigation system developed by the Americans. Glonass, or GLObal NAvigation Satellite System, was the system developed by the Soviets before the fall of the Iron Curtain. The system was currently maintained, sort of, by the Russian Federation Ministry of Defense. The Glonass system was less reliable, but when it worked, it actually sometimes gave more accurate readings. Bond toggled the option to Glonass.

Still nothing. The bloody device wasn't reading either systems' signals.

In frustration, Bond put the device away. He scanned the horizon again. This time, he thought he could see a dust cloud. The sun was high in the sky, roughly noon local time, so Bond could tell from his shadow which direction was which. His shadow, small as it was, would be pointing to the north. That, of course, was assuming that he was in the northern hemisphere. He looked around again. He was willing, for the moment at least, to make that assumption.

That meant the dust cloud was to the north. Maybe it's a vehicle on a road, he thought.

He started walking toward the dust cloud.

* * *

It took Bond several hours to reach a simple dirt road. By the time he reached it, whatever had caused the dust cloud had passed. Bond could see tracks in the dust, but couldn't tell what sort of vehicle made the tracks. The wind was blowing slightly and the fine dust of the road covered the details of the tracks.

The road had to lead somewhere. He started walking along the road. Bond periodically stopped and watched carefully from both directions. Soon, another dust cloud appeared. He stood and watched the cloud for several minutes. It appeared to be coming toward him.

Not knowing what exactly to expect, he remained cautious.

As the dust cloud got closer, it resolved into a horse-drawn stage coach. Bond had seen such things in the motion pictures, but didn't realize anyone in the world still used them. He wondered if he'd somehow been drugged and dropped off in Pennsylvania Dutch country. For what reason, he still couldn't fathom. But he knew the Amish still used horse-drawn wagons and shunned any modern conveniences.

Or maybe he was on a private ranch. Some megalomaniac had an Old American West fetish. A bit far-fetched, he thought, but certainly not outside the realm of possibility. Particularly considering some of the people he'd dealt with in the past.

As the stagecoach got near him, it began to slow. The driver obviously thought he needed help. Bond shielded his eyes and nose with his hands as the large wooden-framed coach and the four horses finally came to a halt amidst a cloud of thick dust.

"You lose your horse, mister?" the coach driver looked like he hadn't bathed in months. The driver was an old man, Bond took him to be at least sixty or maybe even seventy. Or, maybe he was only fifty, but had a hard life. The driver spit a wad of tobacco on the dusty ground beside the coach. Bond stepped back to avoid it.

Bond had spent the majority of his adult life pretending to be something he wasn't. To gain entry into various countries, he'd had a litany of false identities and cover stories to mask who and what he really was. He'd learned long ago that the best lie to tell someone was the one they came up with themselves. If this guy assumed Bond had a horse and had lost it--thus ending up stranded out here--then that was the lie that would work best. "Yes," Bond replied. He was a practiced liar.

A woman stuck her head from the coach. She was an attractive older woman, with red hair. "Driver, why are we stopped?" the woman asked.

The driver leaned over and yelled down to his passenger, "This here fella done lost his horse. The stage line's got strict rules, Miss Russell. I gotta stop and see if he needs a ride."

"Well, mister," the woman directed herself to Bond. "You need a ride or not?"

"Yes, quite," Bond told her.

"Well, then get yourself in here so we can get going. I've got to get back to Dodge before dark."

Bond stepped forward and began to climb into the coach. "How far is 'Dodge'?"

The driver spit again and then said, "Only being about another couple hours or so. Cost you six bits to ride that far."

"Six bits?" Bond questioned.

"You're a limey, ain't ya. I could tell by your accent and fancy clothes."

Bond nodded.

"Well, six bits is 75 cents, American. Iffin' you ain't got American money, you can settle up with the stage office in Dodge City. I'll be telling Marshall Dillon to make suren' you pay up."

"Thank you, kind sir," Bond replied. If these people were play acting, he thought, they certainly were getting into the parts. He finished mounting the coach and slide into the passenger compartment. The coach jumped forward almost before Bond had a chance to seat himself. He could hear the driver overhead, cracking the reins and yelling to encourage the horses. 

Inside the coach were two women. The redhead how'd stuck her head out and a younger woman. Both were dressed in long petticoats and full dresses over the petticoats. Bond's first impression was that they must be so very uncomfortable in that many clothes.

"I'm Kitty Russell," the redhead said. "And you are?"

"Bond, James Bond."

"Pleased to meetcha' Mr. Bond. This is Sylvia, one of my girls."

Bond smiled at the two women and nodded. "Your 'girls'?" Bond asked.

"I own the Long Branch saloon in Dodge City, Mr. Bond. Sylvia works for me," Kitty said.

"Are you really a foreigner?" Sylvia asked. Her voice was low and she tried to hide her face by ducking it slightly to one side. Bond couldn't tell whether she was genuinely shy or just trying to be coy. He bet she was just acting. He'd seen this type of woman too many times before.

"Yes," Bond admitted, "I'm from Great Britain."

"Great Britain?" Sylvia asked, "Where's that?"

"That's another name for England, dear," Kitty told her. "Isn't it, Mr. Bond?"

"Yes, it is, Mrs. Russell," Bond replied.

"Miss Russell," Kitty corrected.

"*Miss* Russell," Bond agreed.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, the three passengers were jolted when the stage made a quick stop. "What now?" Kitty exclaimed. "I'm never gonna get to Dodge!"

Sylvia choked on the dust that entered the open windows of the stage. Bond shielded his nose with his hand. He leaned out the window to see if he could see what was happening through the dust cloud. As the dust began to settle he saw three horsemen blocking the road.

He heard the driver yelling, "I ain't got no strong box. Ain't hauling nothing but passengers." A old-fashioned stagecoach robbery? he thought. The hairs on Bond's neck rose; however improbable, this was happening for real.

Bond motioned for the woman to remain seated and reached into his jacket and slide out the PPK. He flicked off the safety and readied to leave the coach.

Miss Kitty whispered to him, "If you're going try fighting them, you're going need more than that little pepperbox. Sit down and don't do anything that will get us killed."

Bond ignored the woman. She was simply scared. He hoped she didn't do anything stupid and had the sense to just sit quiet.

Now the dust was settled and Bond could see the three men on horses. Two of them were in front of the coach, blocking the roadway. Another was off to one side; thankfully, the side the door was on.

"Driver," he yelled. "What's going on?"

One of the horsemen answered, "You, in the stage, this is a holdup. Come out of there."

"Since they asked so nice," Bond said, and opened the door of the stage. He kept the PPK in his hand, but the small gun was easily hidden by his large hand. He jumped down and then put his free hand up to assist the two ladies. They reluctantly began to climb down. Climbing out of the stage was not an easy task considering the dresses they wore.

After several minutes, the three were all out of the stage. Bond closed the stage door and escorted the ladies a few steps away from the coach.

The three horsemen were dressed in dirty shirts. They looked about as clean as the stage driver. They had bandanas tied around their necks and pulled up to cover the lower half of their faces. All held revolvers pointed at the driver. Colt .44 caliber single actions, by the look of the weapons, Bond thought. They might consider the Englishman a dandy because he was wearing a relatively clean suit, but they failed to reckon with what his true vocation was.

"I'm only goin' ask you one more time," the first bandit said to the driver, "Throw down the strongbox or you're dead." The horseman had a dark grey hat, no doubt originally white, but soiled from long years on the trail.

"I'm tellin' ya, I ain't got no strongbox," the old man 

"And I'm tellin' you, that's the wrong answer," the lead bandit replied. He raised the gun a tad and shot the driver.

The women both screamed. Bond used their scream and the confusion as his cover. He turned and carefully picked off the third horseman, the one closest to the woman and himself. The .32 caliber armor-piercing bullet from the PPK hit the man right between the eyes. He was dead before he realized Bond had shot. The bandit slumped in his saddle.

Almost without thinking, Bond spun and in quick succession put a bullet into the other two horseman. The lead bandit was hit in the neck and the remaining bandit was likewise hit in the head. Both fell from their mounts. The lead bandit was still alive and he tried to stand. Bond moved quickly around the women and in front of the couch. The lead bandit was half crouched over in pain, but he was lifting his six-gun to shoot Bond when Bond put another bullet into him. This time, the shot hit true and the bandit fell face forward. The second shot hit him square in the forehead. The force of the impact knocked his hat off and as he fell forward, the gapping exit wound in the back of his skull was readily apparent. Bond quietly picked up the bandit's hat and covered the dead man's head with it to spare the women the sight.

The horse from the first bandit Bond killed spooked from the smell of fresh blood. The horse reared slightly, and its dead rider slide almost silently out of the saddle.

Bond then climbed onto the stage and looked at the driver. The old man had taken a slug in the shoulder. He was slumped against the seat, but still alive. Bond turned to tell Miss Russell he needed something to dress the old man's wounds, but she was already climbing onto the stage.

"He's still alive, isn't he?" she asked.

"Yes," Bond said. "Hit in the shoulder. But I think he'll live."

Bond moved aside as Kitty Russell pushed herself into the drivers seat. "You know how to drive one of these?" she asked.

"Uh, no," Bond said. He knew he probably could handle the coach if he had to, but he'd never done it before.

"Then get outta my way," the redhead said. "We've got to get to Dodge. Doc Adams can patch this guy up." She tore part of her petticoat off and packed the old man's wound with the cloth.

When she finished with the old man, she turned and looked down. "Sylvia, you get back in the stage," she said. "Now!" she added when the younger woman hesitated.

Kitty Russell looked Bond square in the eyes. "I've only know one other man that could shoot like that. And he's the Federal marshall in Dodge City," she warned.

Bond returned her look, but didn't say anything. He had the sudden feeling that this was all real. Somehow he really was back in the old American west and he'd just been forced to kill three men. He locked the safety on the PPK and holstered the weapon. He then broke eye contact with Miss Russell and climbed into the stage after Sylvia.

A moment later, the stage began to move forward. To her credit, Kitty Russell handled the stage better than the driver.

That's one hell of a woman, Bond thought.

* * *

The stage pulled into Dodge City, Kansas scarcely two hours later. Instead of stopping the stage coach in front of the livery, Kitty stopped it in front of the Marshall's office. Bond knew it was the Marshall's office because the sign on the front of the building said so: "US Marshall's Office" and in smaller print underneath: "Dodge City, Kansas."

Bond prepared to disembark from the stage when he saw two men come out of the office. One was tall, at least 6 foot 4; the other much shorter. The tall man was clean shaven and dressed in relatively clean clothes, over his clothes he wore a leather vest to which was pinned a US Marshall's star. The shorter man could have been the driver's younger brother. Dirty clothes, four or five days growth of beard and a squirrelly squint to his eyes. But he wore a star too, no doubt the marshall's deputy.

"Kitty," the Marshall said, "What in tarnation happened?"

"We were bushwacked, Matt," Kitty told the marshall.

The tall marshall stepped up to assist the woman down. The shorter man opened the stage door and began helping Sylvia out.

"How's the driver?" Marshall Matt Dillon asked Kitty.

"He's alive."

"Festus, go get Doc Adams," Dillon ordered the shorter man.

Deputy Festus Hagan doffed his dusty hat to Sylvia. "We'll do, Matthew. Right away," Festus said, and then headed off down the street at a hurry.

Marshall Dillon climbed into the driver's seat of the stage. "Newly!" he yelled, and another man came out of the office. This one was younger than Festus and a lot cleaner, Bond noted.

Bond stepped down from the stage and closed the door behind him. The marshall and his other deputy carefully lowered the driver to the ground. The marshall then jumped down from the stage and turned to Kitty. Newly O'Brien, Dillon's other deputy sheriff, checked the driver's wounds as he eased the man to the boardwalk outside the Marshall's office.

"What happened, Kitty?"

"We were bushwacked," Kitty explained. "Three horsemen. I think it was the Vega gang. They looked Mexican to me," she said.

"The Vega's are getting bold, Marshall," Newly said.

"Well, they won't be getting any bolder," Kitty said. "They're dead."

Marshall Dillon merely nodded. Death was a day to day occurrence on frontier, especially for outlaws. "Any of you hurt?" he asked, looked over Bond and Sylvia.

"No," Kitty said. "We might have been killed if it wasn't for Mr. Bond here."

Bond stepped forward at the mention of his name. "You're Bond?" the Marshall asked.

"Yes."

Dillon eyed the dandy. He isn't even wearing a gun belt, Dillon thought. Dillon looked at Kitty. He could tell from the look in her eye that there was more to this than anyone was letting on. He was about to suggest that they move inside when he heard Festus.

"Move it, move it," the deputy was saying to the small crowd that had gathered. "Let Doc through. Go on, git." He waved his hands to move the crowd away. An elderly man was following Festus.

Bond immediately took the man to be a doctor. First off, he was carrying an old fashioned black bag. Secondly, he had a look of grave concern on his face as he rushed through the crowd and past Bond, Dillon, Kitty and Sylvia. Doc Adams knelt down beside Newly and began to look at the stage driver's wounds.

"Let's go in your office, Matt," Kitty said.

Dillon motioned for her to go ahead and did likewise to Bond. The three of them went into the Marshall's office and Dillon closed the door behind them. Bond noticed that the Marshall limped slightly.

The office was in a brick building; one of the few brick buildings Bond had seen in Dodge City. The majority of the buildings seemed to be wood constructions. The building that housed the Marshall's office was one large room. In the front was single desk, a cast-iron stove with a tin coffee pot on it, and a few rifles hung from a rack. Wanted posters hung on the wall behind the desk. To one side and behind the desk small room created by a partition. It contained a cot. This allowed the deputy on duty to sleep or rest if necessary. Opposite the desk, across on open space of about 10 feet or so, was a small table and a couple chairs. Right now, there was a chess board set up on the table. A set of red and black checkers were laid out on the board.

The rest of the building was filled with the jail proper. There were two large cast iron cages. Each was large enough for three men. Four if they were small or cramped. A cot sat inside each cage, as did a chamber pot. Currently, the both cages were empty.

Dillon moved to stand behind the desk. He tucked his thumbs into his gun belt and threw his shoulders back. Bond was impressed with the physical presence of the man.

Bond thought back to the incident at Sotheby's. He thought about the costumed vigilante, Batman, and the stranger on the street that actually caught the cat burglar. Bond was no small man himself, but he keep running into these American giants.

"So what all happened, Kitty?"

"As I said, I think it was the Vega gang. They stopped the stage about 30 miles back. They asked for the strong box, but the driver told them he didn't have one. And they shot him."

"What happened to the Vega's?" Dillon asked.

"Mr. Bond here is what happened to them," Kitty said. "He shoots as good as you do, Matt. Took the three of them down faster than I could follow. And with nothing more than a little pepperbox. He's either a lawman or a gunslinger."

"Which is it?" Dillon demanded.

Bond thought quickly. If this really was the later half of the nineteenth century, Queen Victoria was still on the thorn. "Actually, I'm an special agent in the Service of the Queen of England and all the dominions." He tried to make it sound a little more fancy than what it was, or would have been at this time. MI6 and its successor organization hadn't been formed until the Second World War. But the story was basically true. Bond hoped he conformed to their impression of what an English lawman should be.

Dillon nodded.

Bond was silently grateful that Dillon hadn't asked for any proof. He had his plastic laminated SIS identification in his wallet, but he didn't think they'd accept that when they saw the dates on it.

"If you're a lawman, where's your gunbelt, Mr. Bond?" he asked, still puzzled.

Dillon had a puzzled look on his face. Kitty suggested, "He's English, Matt. I read somewhere that the lawmen in England don't carry guns like they do here in Kansas."

Dillon nodded. "I've heard the same thing, Kitty. But you said he shot the Vega gang." Dillon looked hard at Bond, "You got a gun hidden up your sleeve or something?"

Bond opened his jacket and showed Dillon the shoulder harness and the butt of the PPK.

Dillon motioned with his hand for Bond to unholster the weapon and hand it to him. "Slowly," he said.

Bond held the jacket open with his left hand and slowly unholstered the PPK with his right. He held it purposely by two fingers on the grip as he handed it to the Marshall.

Dillon looked it over carefully. If Bond really was in the old American west, the Marshall would have never seen anything like the PPK. The autoloading pistol hadn't been invented yet. Most men still used revolvers with percussion caps and lead and dry powder, Bond knew. Only a few revolvers existed that even had self-contained cartridges. And definitely nothing like the Teflon-coated, armor-piercing rounds that Bond routinely carried in the PPK.

Bond was surprised when Dillon handed it back to him. Bond returned the PPK to its holster.

Dillon continued to stare at Bond, trying to absorb Kitty's story. "We've got a very strict 'no gun' policy here in Dodge City, Mr. Bond. But since you're a lawman, I'll let you keep that little gun of yours," Dillon said. "But if you start any trouble, I'll be after you. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Bond said. Miss Russell had called the gun a 'pepperbox'; had they confused the slick little gun from the future for a multi-shot Derringer? Bond wondered. Whatever the marshall thought, it was obviously that the little gun wasn't as deadly as the large six-guns hanging from Marshall Dillon's hips.

"The Texas herds are coming soon. Dodge City will be overrun by drunken cowboys looking to spend their earnings. I don't have time to baby sit any foreign dandies," Dillon said.

"Exactly what brings you to Dodge City, Mr. Bond?" Kitty beat Dillon to the question.

Bond tried his suavest smile on the woman. "Actually, I wasn't headed to Dodge City," Bond said. That was, after all, the truth. "I seem to have gotten lost. This prairie all looks the same. But I lost my horse and seem to be stranded here for a while." He didn't elaborate on exactly how he lost the "horse."

Dillon nodded again.

Apparently lost horses are quite common here, Bond thought.

"You have money?" Dillon asked. "If so, you can buy a new horse at the livery. Newly's a blacksmith there, he'll help you pick out a good one.

Even in the old west, law enforcement officers were worried about indigents, Bond thought. He had a number of credit cards, both personal and company issued, as well about 400 pounds in assorted Bank of England notes and about 300 dollars in American money, likewise assorted notes. All twentieth century issue, however. He thought for a split second. The gold coins, he remembered. The emergency stash sown into his belt. He didn't remember if the coins had dates on them or not. They were Swiss issued gold bullion. Surely he could redeem them for local currency at the assay office or bank.

"I think I can make due," Bond said. "I do need to find a bank, however."

"I can show you where the bank is," Kitty said. "It's on the way to the Long Branch. And when you're done at the bank, you come by my saloon and I'm buying you a drink on the house for saving Sylvia and I out there."

"That's very nice of you," Bond said.

Dillon sat down and dug through the stack of wanted notices on his desk. "If you really did kill the Vega gang, there'll be a reward. Here it is, the stage company put up $200 for anyone that brought the gang to justice."

"How's he get the money, Matt?" Kitty asked. "I'll vouch for him."

"I'll send Festus out with the undertaker to find the bodies. As soon as they're back here in Dodge, I'll arrange it with the stage office."

A bounty, Bond thought. That solved his money problem. He could just collect the bounty in current issue bills or coins. In this time period, $200 was almost a fortune. He could live comfortably until he figured out a way to get home. If that was possible.

* * *


	10. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 10

### Aboard the Enterprise, near Bajor

The Enterprise arrived at Deep Space Nine ahead of schedule. Riker attributed it to the efficient operation of the ship; Engineering kept the engines finely tuned and the crew manning the Helm plotted courses that took advantage of gravity assists around stellar objects. Well, and the war has thinned out the travel lanes a bit, he had to admit to himself.

It was Beta shift when the starship dropped out of warp and slid into parking orbit around the giant starbase. Riker was in the center seat. As first officer, he almost always had command of the ship during Beta shift.

He was just about to signal that they had arrived when he heard the turbolift open. Riker glanced over his shoulder to see Captain Picard coming on to the bridge. "Captain on the bridge," he announced as he stood and moved from the chair.

Picard took the center chair as Riker moved to the chair to the right of the Captain. Picard was unusually quiet, the first officer noted. It's never easy seeing Sisko, Riker thought. And this is the first time we've been to DS9 since Worf's wife died. This would be tough on all of us.

He thought about Deanna. She and Worf had a brief romance before Worf was transferred to DS9. Riker wondered how she'd handle their reunion. Granted, she was a ship's councilor, and her entire career was built around helping people cope. But how would she handle this when it was someone so close to her.

* * *

### Space Station Deep Space Nine

Captain Benjamin Sisko was in his office overlooking Ops when the call came in. It was Major Kira's voice. No, Sisko reminded himself, Colonel Kira. She'd been promoted during the time he'd been away.

"Captain," Kira said over the intercom.

"Yes," Sisko responded in his deep resonant voice. "The Enterprise is here. I have Captain Picard hailing us."

"Put it through," Sisko commanded. He swung the desktop computer display unit around so the video pickup would center him in its field of view.

The Federation banner flicked off the display and Picard's face appeared. "Captain Sisko," Picard said.

"Captain Picard," Sisko responded. "Welcome to Deep Space Nine. Would your crew like a little shore leave. We're not exactly Risa, but we might be able to find something for them to do."

"Thank you, Captain," Picard said. "I'm sure you've seen the same orders I have. We need to head into the Beta Quadrant as soon as possible."

"Yes," Sisko agreed. "The Defiant is ready. Commander Worf will be in charge on this mission."

Picard nodded. "Good choice. But I was hoping you'd command the Defiant, Benjamin. You've had more experience with the Mirror Universe than Worf has. That might come in handy on this mission if I can believe what Starfleet and my science officer are telling me."

"Very well," Sisko said. "Things have been slow here since the war ended. I think I can leave for awhile."

"I'd like you and your senior officers to beam over so we can have a joint briefing."

Sisko looked at the time icon in the corner of the computer display. It was currently 16:24. "I think I can have everyone assembled and beamed over by 17 hundred."

"Good," Picard said. "We'll have a bite to eat and start the briefing at 18 hundred. Picard out."

Sisko watched Picard's image fade from the computer display. The Federation banner once again filled the display. Sisko stared at the dark blue background and the Federation emblem with its star field surrounded by two olive branches. He wondered, not for the first time, if the emblem wasn't intentionally designed to convey a feeling of peace and tranquility.

"Colonel Kira," he said. The computer system automatically picked up his voice, interrupted it as a command and connected his terminal with hers. Her image appeared on the display.

"Yes, Captain," the Bajoran officer said. Her earring moved as she turned her head to look directly into her computer display. It caught the overhead lights of the Operations area as it swung gently.

"Colonel, please have the senior staff report to Ops by 16:50. We'll be beaming over to the Enterprise at 17 hundred."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Riker and Picard were in transporter room two when Sisko and the crew from DS9 beamed aboard. They recognized Worf and O'Brien instantly; both had served on the Enterprise-D. And both Riker and Picard had met Kira, Dr. Bashir, and Odo during previous visits to Deep Space Nine.

Both Riker and Picard knew about Lieutenant Jadzia Dax's death. But they didn't know about Ezri Dax's posting on DS9.

"Permission to come aboard?" Sisko asked.

"Permission granted," Picard said. It was an old custom.

Sisko stepped down from the transporter pad and introduced his crew. "Captain, Commander, you both know Commander Worf, Dr. Bashir, Chief O'Brien, and my security chief, Odo. And my second, *Colonel* Kira, of course."

"Good to see you again Worf. And you too, Chief," Picard said. "Doctor, Odo" he nodded to Bashir and the Changeling. "Congratulations on your promotion, Colonel."

"Thank you, Captain," Kira said.

"And this is our station's new councilor, Lieutenant Ezri Dax," Sisko introduced the Trill.

Picard felt a little uneasy. Was it possible there was more than one symbiont named Dax?

Sisko saw the confusion in Picard and Riker's faces. "Yes, Captain. Ezri is the latest host for the Dax symbiont."

Riker shook off his confusion first. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant," he said, smiling at the young officer.

The young woman looked up at the second officer of the Enterprise and smiled back. "Thank you, Commander. I've heard a lot about you. You're supposed to be almost as good a poker player as Jadzia. I have most of her memories, you know. If we have time, we should get up a game."

Riker was taken aback. The little lady had more spunk than her appearance would suggest.

Picard laughed. "Welcome aboard everyone. Riker will direct the rest of you to Ten Forward. You can all get reacquainted and compare notes. We'll begin the formal briefing at 18 hundred in the Executive Briefing Room. Captain, if you could come with me."

Picard and Sisko left the room. The transporter room still felt small with so many people standing around.

"If you'll all follow me," Riker said, and walked out of the room. The rest followed him.

* * *

Ten Forward was the room forward most on Deck 10. It was by Starfleet custom a recreation lounge. This gave off-duty crew and visitors the best forward view the ship had to offer. Picard had a buffet table arranged in the lounge and hoped that the time before the meeting would allow the two crews to reacquaint themselves.

Before heading to Ten Forward, he and Sisko spent several minutes in his office. Picard wanted to brief Sisko privately about Q's possible involvement in this mission. It wasn't that Q was any big secret; Sisko had encountered the omnipotent alien on DS9. It was also a way for Picard to gauge Sisko. The war with the Dominion had taken a lot out of Benjamin; Picard wanted to make sure that his fellow captain was ready to tackle this mission.

Picard also wanted to gauge Sisko's attitude toward him. Nearly 8 years ago, Picard had been captured by the Borg. Sisko had lost command of his previous ship and lost his wife due to Picard's actions as Locutus. The two men had come to grips with those actions respectively, but Picard was concerned that Sisko's recent pressures might have reawakened old wounds.

Satisfied that everything was well, Picard escorted his guest to Ten Forward. The remainder of the two command crews were already assembled there. A few other off-duty Enterprise crew were also in the large lounge.

Picard looked out the forward windows. He noticed that Data had placed the Enterprise on a nose-forward attitude. Deep Space Nine appeared to hang suspended amidst the stars directly in front of the Enterprise. Off to one side, a small ship moved away from DS9. Picard thought it was a Vulcan survey ship. A moment later, a bright light flared apparently from nothing as the ship plunged into the Bajoran wormhole on its way to the Gamma Quadrant.

"It's a beautiful station, Benjamin," Picard said.

"If you like Cardassian architecture," Sisko joked. Deep Space Nine had started out as the Cardassian ore processing plant Terek Nor. After the liberation of Bajor from Cardassian occupation, the newly formed Bajoran provincial government had given the station to Starfleet as a base.

The two captains joined their officers.

Riker was at the bar. He missed the old Ten Forward. This lounge was nice, but it was just a tad too big. The Ten Forward on the Enterprise-D had been just the right size. Large enough for a crowd, but small enough to be, well, intimate. About the same size as a smoky Kansas City jazz joint, he thought.

Speaking of intimate, Riker noticed that the young Lt. Dax was staying very close to Dr. Bashir. He wondered if the two were an item. Dax was a bit on the short side for Riker, but there was just something about her that attracted him. Was it that fact that she was carrying a symbiont and the combined memories of nine lifetimes? Riker himself had been the temporary host for the Odan symbiont. The experience had left him with vague memories of previous lives. He wondered if Ezri had as much trouble sorting through all those memories as he had in his short experience as a host.

He noticed that like always sought out like; Dax and Troi were comparing notes, along with Dr. Crusher and Dr. Bashir. Geordi was chatting with O'Brien, about something technical not doubt. Engineers! he thought. And Data and Worf were standing off to one side; looking like outcasts amongst the humans in the room. And the two captains were standing by the window, admiring the station.

Thinking that he should follow the pattern, he looked around for Sisko's second in command, Colonel Kira. His eyes scanned the room and found her and the Changeling Odo near the buffet table. They were leaning close and sharing a private conversation. Damn, Riker thought, it's just not my night. Looks like the Colonel is pretty close to the Constable.

Picard had put him in charge of the briefing. He tapped his communicator and asked the ship's computer what time it was. The polite female voice of the computer interface system informed him that it was 17:51. He decided that it was about time to begin herding everyone to the briefing room.

"If I could have everyone's attention..." he said as he stepped forward.

* * *

The two crews adjourned formally in the Executive Briefing Room. It was on Deck Three, below the bridge. It was not as convenient to the bridge as the conference room at the rear of the bridge was, but it was large enough for both crews. It was actually a small auditorium.

Riker took his place at the podium. Everyone was seated and he wanted to get this over. Even after all his years in Starfleet, every mission briefing gave him butterflies. Everything would be fine as soon as they laid in a course and began the mission, but at this point, he was fighting the flutters in his stomach.

"Captain Picard asked me to chair this briefing," Riker began. "I know you've all reviewed the data packet that we received from Starfleet Command." Several in the crowd before him nodded in agreement with his statement. They were all top grade officers; he knew they wouldn't be assigned to their posts if they weren't that good.

Riker continued, "A number of science stations throughout the Federation have been recording temporal anomalies. These anomalies seem to be centered from a point in the Beta Quadrant about thirty light years from here. Luckily, the point is in a sector of space that is unclaimed by the Klingons, Romulans, and Tholians. We will have to travel through the Klingon Empire to reach this point. We've received the appropriate approvals from the Klingons to do so. We estimate a travel time of about three days. Starfleet Command has given us authority to exceed warp restrictions if necessary."

He paused. No one had any questions. Yet.

"Our two crews were selected because of our unique experiences. The anomalies are temporal in nature, and both of these crews have multiple experiences with time travel. Additionally, a faction within the Vulcan Science Academy is of the opinion that the anomaly may be related to another universe somehow intersecting with ours. As you all know, the crew from Deep Space Nine have experience with the Mirror Universe."

"Strategic analysts at Starfleet Command are concerned that this might be either an after-effect of the recent Borg attempt to take over twentieth century Earth or perhaps another attempt to disrupt the Federation by means of time travel. They also suggest the possibility that the Dominion could be attempting something similar."

Geordi raised his hand to get Riker's attention. "Yes, La Forge?"

"It's been several days now since we encountered Q. Does Fleet Command have any analysis suggesting his relationship to this?"

Riker shrugged. He didn't know anything; as far as he had heard, no one at Starfleet Command had issued any opinions. Q was simply too unpredictable. "Captain?"

"Nothing has come out of Starfleet Command regarding Q," Picard said. "But I think we need to be ever mindful that this could just be one of his little games."

"What exactly did he say?" Kira wondered.

Picard said, "His exact words were 'think outside the box'."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Odo wondered.

"We have no idea," Picard said. "Knowing Q, it could mean nearly anything..."

"Uh, Captain Picard, if I may," Bashir interrupted. Bashir was a bit of a amateur historian and was fascinated by the 19th and 20th centuries. He and O'Brien spent months creating a holodeck recreations of various key points in 19th and 20th century history as well as from novels of the era. So far, over the years, they'd recreated, and relived, the Battle of the Alamo, the Battle of Britian, a Las Vegas casino, the world of Cold War espionage, and others. "It was a colloquialism sometimes used in the military or in aviation. It meant basically to stretch beyond your limits,...think outside your experience."

"Ah," Data said, "Similar to the phrase, 'push the envelope,'"

"Yes," Bashir agreed. "I believe so."

Picard shook his head, "Perhaps, but Q tends to be more literal than that."

"The universe."

"What was that, Lieutenant?" Picard asked.

It had been Dax that had spoken up. "What if the 'box' in this case is the universe. Our universe."

Sisko smiled. He knew Curzon and Jadzia were in there somewhere.

Ezri continued, inspired by her commander's smile. "Maybe the Vulcans are right. Maybe this anomaly is being caused by something outside our own universe."

"Give that little lady a cee-gar!" Riker said. Or rather, it was Q, wearing Riker's uniform and with Riker's beard, standing in Riker's spot at the podium.

"Oh, disgusting!" Ezri exclaimed, pulling a cigar from her mouth. She threw it to the floor and wiped her mouth.

"Hey," Q protested Ezri's action, "That was the best neo-Cuban latinum can buy."

"Q!" Picard and Sisko yelled, almost in unison.

"Q, explain yourself and then get off my ship," Picard ordered. From the corner of his eye, he could see Worf calling Security and trying to move to a more strategic position.

"I have nothing to explain," Q said. "Your doing quite well enough figuring it out yourself. Or rather, Sisko's crew is," he taunted.

"Q!" Picard yelled in exasperation.

"Temper, temper, mon captaine!" Q wagged his finger at Picard. "You're on the yellow brick road and the first person you'll meet is the Tin Man." And with that, Q and the cigar on the floor were gone.

Riker stood again at the podium with a puzzled look on his face. "Q," he said. "Again."

"Yes, Will," Picard said. "And he left us another riddle."

Just then, the security team burst into the Executive Briefing Room with phasers at the ready. Worf and Data dismissed them off to one side, while Riker and Picard conferred at the podium. Picard filled Riker in on what his doppelganger had told them.

Data finished with the security team and walked over to the podium. "Captain," he said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. "I believe Q's last statement was a reference to a children's book from the twentieth century. 'The Wizard of Oz,' if I am not mistaken."

"Yes," Dr. Crusher said. "It was one of Wesley's favorites when he was a boy."

Picard waited. Unlike Data, Crusher didn't have a habit of running on. "Please continue, Doctor," he prompted.

"Well, the Tin Man was a woodsman who replaced a different body part with a metal one every time he had an accident. Eventually, he became a man made entirely of metal. He wanted to visit the Wizard to get a heart."

"A man of metal," Sisko said. "That sounds like Data to me."

"But I have a heart," Commander Data pointed out. "It is artificial, of course, but I *do* have one."

"What about the organic spaceship we encountered?" Deanna Troi asked. "It was code named Tin Man. Suppose it has reentered this part of the galaxy?" Troi had known the Federation emissary, Tam Elbrun, who had eventually left with the Tin Man alien intelligence.

"No, Counselor," Picard said. "I think Data is right. I remember the story from my own youth, oh, so many years ago. Q used the 'yellow brick road' reference also. That clearly points us to the 'Wizard of Oz'. Let's ponder this more on the way to the anomaly. Q's second appearance makes me even more anxious to get there."

* * *

The crew from Deep Space Nine transferred to the Defiant and both ships left DS9 before 23:00. Sisko left the station in temporary command of Worf. This mission appeared to be purely scientific and although he hated leaving the Klingon behind, he felt a lot safer having the station in the hands of someone who could defend it.

Odo opted to stay behind as well. He was convinced that Quark was up to a scheme and didn't want to let the Ferengi have free rein of the station while they were gone.

Ezri had requested to stay on the station as well, but Sisko ordered her along. He knew that she was still having trouble adjusting to the thoughts of her previous hosts, but he wanted Jadzia's scientific knowledge and Curzon's strategic mind along on this mission.

* * *

The trip to the Beta Quadrant took almost exactly three days, standard Federation time. The trip was entirely uneventful. For that, Picard was thankful. He didn't relish another visit by Q.

The two ships, the larger Enterprise-E and the smaller, but equally as fast and powerful Defiant, ran alongside each other.

"One hundred thousand kilometers from the anomaly, Captain," Data announced.

"Drop from warp, Mister Data," Picard ordered. "Bring us to fifty thousand klicks and begin detailed scans."

"Aye, sir."

The Enterprise dropped out of warp drive and drifted forward for a moment before the impulse drive engaged. The Defiant executed the exact same maneuver a split second after the Enterprise did. The two ships moved forward in standard Starfleet formation.

"Will, establish a link with the Defiant."

"Aye, Captain."

The remainder of the command crew arrived via the turbolift. The computer had automatically summoned them when the ship had arrived at its destination. This was standard Starfleet procedure. La Forge assumed his station at the Engineering console at the back of the bridge. Troi and Crusher took their seats at the side of the bridge.

"Captain?" It was Data.

"Yes, Data?"

"There is a considerable amount of interference coming from the anomaly and the surrounding space. Our scan is practically useless."

"Is the Defiant online?" Picard asked Riker.

"Yes," Riker said. "Captain Sisko is waiting."

"Computer, split screen on the main viewer," Picard ordered.

The main viewer at the front of the bridge continued to show a view of the space directly in front of the ship, but in a split window, Sisko's image appeared. The image from the Defiant had the smallest amount of static; the interference was affecting communications between the two ships even though they were barely a kilometer apart.

"Picard, we're getting a lot of static over here. Our sensors aren't penetrating the anomaly," Sisko reported.

"We have the same problem," Picard confirmed.

Sisko said, "Can we slave the sensors from both ships together? Make them act with a wider bandwidth than they would singly," he explained. "Might penetrate the interference that way."

"Yes," Picard smiled, "Leave it to O'Brien to come up with a solution to this problem."

"Actually, Captain, it was Dax's idea. Apparently it's an old Klingon trip that Curzon picked up nearly 50 years ago," Sisko explained.

Picard had underestimated the young lieutenant. He forget that she carried inside her a symbiont with over three hundred years of experience, including many years in Starfleet. Embarrassed, Picard said, "Well, yes...Please give my regards to the Councilor for her idea. It might just do the trick," he told Sisko. "Data, coordinate our sensors with those of the Defiant. La Forge, see if you can help."

"Yes, sir," Data said, his hands already flying across the console faster than the human eye could register.

"Yes, sir," La Forge said. "Even without the interference, slaving the two sensors together would allow us to do a quicker scan. Might be a good idea to add to the SOP." SOP meant Standard Operating Procedures.

"That's a good idea, Geordi," Riker said. "Consider it noted."

A moment later, Data announced, "The sensors are now working. We should have a preliminary scan of the anomaly in three point six minutes."

Riker sat in the command chair beside Picard and watched the status report from the combined sensor scan scroll by on the command terminal built into the arm of the chair. He didn't have the depth of knowledge about temporal mechanics that Data did, but for the life of him, he thought the anomaly looked like a doughnut. Literally, a hole in space.

"Sensor scan is complete, Captain," Data finally announced. "There is considerable temporal flex around the anomaly, but the center of the event appears to be somewhat stable. Time is progressing at a much retarded rate at the center of the anomaly and our sensors indicate there's some sort of object resting at the center."

"An object, Data?" Riker voiced the question everyone had.

"Yes, I am continuing to process the sensor information, but it appears to be a man. In some sort of armored suit."

"A man! Data are you sure?" Riker asked.

"One moment, Commander. The computer is still analyzing the sensor readings. Trying to filter out the interference," Data responded.

Riker and Picard, and the rest of the command crew on both the Enterprise and the Defiant waited. The Defiant was a tough little ship, but it was designed to be a blockade runner and strike fighter. It had the standard amount of computer power for a ship of its class. The Enterprise, on the other hand, was designed for long range missions, both defensive and scientific. It had special function processors integrated into its computer systems for just this sort of thing. There was nothing the two crews could do but wait.

Data's fingers continued to flash across his console. He was monitoring portions of the sensor analysis faster than any human could have. "Getting a refined reading now, Captain," he said. "Transferring visual to main viewer."

The combined crews both stared at their respective main viewers. The visual slowly cleared as the computer analyzed and eliminated the interference from the anomaly.

Right in the middle of the "doughnut" was a figure. One head, two arms, two legs, obviously humanoid.

"Definitely human," Data announced. "Wearing some sort of advanced armored pressure suit."

"Is he alive?" Crusher asked.

"Yes. Life signs are weak, but steady," Data said.

"Well," Sisko snorted, "There's our 'Tin Man'."

* * *


	11. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 11

### From the Journal of Thomas Magnum:

It was a Sunday. I'd just finished a major case and was looking for a little down time. Finding recreation in paradise is easy. Just turn around practically anywhere.

On this particular morning, I decided a strenuous workout was in order. It'd work the kinks out and give me something to focus on. So, I pulled out the paddle board and headed out to the ocean.

I was about a quarter mile from shore. I had a good rhythm going, stroke, pause, stroke, pause. Nice and efficient; the sort of rhythm that was easy to keep up all day. And I could have gone all day. Until fate entered the picture.

Some days, everything seems to drop right into your lap. Today, the only thing that dropped into my lap was a woman.

* * *

### The island of Oahu

Thomas Sullivan Magnum, former US Navy Intelligence officer and current private investigator, was paddling offshore in the ocean off the cliffs beneath Robin's Nest. Robin's Nest was the estate of novelist Robin Masters. It rested far above the ocean on the southeastern coast of Oahu. Magnum was employed there as an on-site security expert.

In reality, the work was minimal and Magnum had time to pursue other cases. And it afforded him a place to live and a car to drive.

As Thomas paddled, he thought of a lot of things. His mind was sort of in automatic mode; he had his paddling rhythm set and he allowed his thoughts to wander. He thought about the case he'd just finished, he thought about how to tell Higgins the Ferrari needed repairs (again), he wondered about where to eat tonight, he wondered why there was a woman falling into the water about twenty yards in front of him...

He blinked out of his exercise induced fugue. Surely he'd imagined that last part, he told himself. He stopped paddling and wiped the sweat from his eyes. Sure, that was it, he told himself, he was just imagining it.

He scanned the water and then the sky. He saw nothing.

Thomas was about to resume his paddling when the woman broke the surface of the water in front of him. Her black hair hung over her eyes; Thomas couldn't see her face. But he could tell she was struggling to keep her head above water.

He quickly grabbed the paddle and with three hard strokes Thomas was next to the woman. He slid off the paddle board and tried to get his arm around the struggling woman. She started to fight him. People who were drowning often did this. His basic training from the Naval Academy kicked in and Thomas managed to get his arm under her ribs.

The woman kicked and struggled one last time. Thomas fought her. She was strong. Fear could do that to a person; give them strength they never thought they had. But this woman was genuinely strong. The two went under the water. Thomas had expected it--the woman hadn't.

She stopped struggling. Thomas figured she got a mouth full of seawater in that last dunking. He kicked and broke surface again. He still had his arm around her and he reached for the paddle board with his other arm.

In a moment or two, he had the woman laid across the paddle board and he began swimming hard for shore.

* * *

The guest house was too small for another occupant. Thomas carried the unconscious woman to the main house of the Robin's Nest compound.

"Higgins," he yelled as he walked through the main door.

"For God's Sake, Magnum," Higgins hissed. The major domo of the estate came from the main hall into the entryway. "I have my literary group here for our weekly book discussion and you just waltz in here with your drunken girlfriend..."

"She's not drunk," Thomas snapped. "I found her in the water. She almost drowned."

"Oh, my goodness," Higgins said. "Take her to the first bedroom upstairs." The short, dark haired Englishman turned on his heel. "Doctor Smythe," he called ahead to the main hall. "Doctor Smythe, we have an emergency here."

Doctor Jonahs Smythe, personal friend to Robin Masters, and member of the literary group, stepped from the main hall. Smythe was a British expatriate like Higgins and an acknowledged expert in ancient Hindu literature. He was also a retired British Army physician.

"Upstairs," Higgins directed Smythe. Higgins then went to the main hall to make his apologies to the literary group. He then walked quietly into his study and retrieved a first aid kit from his desk.

When Higgins arrived upstairs, Smythe was leaned over the woman. She was laying on the bed. Higgins forgave the fact that her wet clothes had ruined the Irish linen bedspread.

The woman was wearing a dark purple costume of some sort. Higgins took it to be a dive suit; it fit her ample figure quite snuggly.

Higgins laid the first aid kit on the bed beside the woman. "How is she?"

Smythe continued to examine the woman. "She's unconscious. Mr. Magnum seems to have done a pretty good job of clearing the water from her lungs. I don't see any apparent injuries."

"How did you find her?" Higgins asked.

"Well..." Thomas scrunched up his face as he considered telling Higgins the truth. She fell out of the sky, he said to himself. He couldn't hardly believe it himself. "She was...well, sort of washed up on the beach. I guess she had some sort of diving accident."

"I think she'll be okay. She's unconscious, but I think she's just sleeping now. She needs her rest," Smythe said.

* * *

Later, after Smythe and the rest of the literary group had left the estate, Thomas and Higgins were in Higgins' study.

Jonathan Quayle Higgins, former British Army officer and current major domo of the Robin Masters estate, was seated behind his desk. He was wearing a vaguely military outfit: khaki shirt and khaki pants. He held himself in the chair with a likewise military bearing. The force of habit from his many years of service in Her Majesty's Service.

"How did you say you found her?"

Higgins obviously didn't believe Thomas' story. But then, Higgins didn't believe much of what Thomas told him.

"I told you, she sort of washed up on shore."

"That doesn't explain why she was diving alone. Nor does it explain those bruises on her arm."

"Yeah, I noticed those." Thomas considered that she might have been a abused wife, possibly suicidal, jumping into the surf to kill herself. But at the time he saw her fall into the water, he was at least 400 yards from shore. Much further than anyone could have jumped from the cliffs above. He'd seen no planes or other aircraft overhead that she could have fallen out of.

The two men, with Doctor Smythe's assistance, had removed the woman's tight clothing and tucked her into the bed. When they'd removed the dive suit, they'd discovered one of her arms was heavily bruised. Someone had obviously had a hard grip on her for some reason.

"And that didn't look like any dive suit I've ever seen," Higgins continued.

Thomas nodded. He'd done a lot of diving himself, for sport and earlier, in the Navy. He'd never seen a suit quite like that either. The suit had been snug, like a neoprene diving wet suit, but it was much lighter material. And then there had been the thigh-high leather boots, hood, and gloves. The gloves had razor sharp "claws" attached at the fingertips. And the tops of the boots had little pockets in them.

He didn't like looking through someone's personal items, especial something as intimate as their clothes, but Thomas had been looking for something to identify the woman. Thinking that the woman had been a diver, he'd been looking for some sort of ID card or something; he knew that a lot of divers kept a little waterproof bag tucked in their wetsuits. Just something big enough for an ID card, maybe some emergency money, a list of emergency contacts, that sort of thing.

What Thomas had found was a set of lock picks and a pair of very small, very sophisticated night vision goggles; all neatly tucked into the compartments at the tops of the woman's boots. Whatever she was, she wasn't your run-of-the-mill scuba diver. And now, it was up to Magnum to find out just who and what she was.

"I agree," Thomas said. "Uh, look, Higgins..."

"Don't say it, Magnum!"

"I have to go into Honolulu to check this out. Just watch out for her. Smythe said she'd probably sleep most of the day." Thomas didn't wait for Higgins' response. He hurried out of the study before Higgins could object again.

* * *

### From the Journal of Thomas Magnum:

My little voice told me that this woman was going to be trouble. But then, my little voice had been wrong before.

Regardless of the trouble she might be in, I had to figure out who she was and why she fell into the middle of the ocean.

Higgins and I would learn more about her when she awoke, but in the meantime, I took the Ferrari into town to see if I could learn anything.

Took me nearly all afternoon to check all my sources. First stop was Lt. Tanaka. That was the great thing about the Honolulu Police Department; they never closed. Tanaka was on duty even on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Unfortunately, Tanaka didn't have anything. No missing persons, no Jane Does that matched our mystery woman's description.

I then checked all the mental hospitals. No escapees matching her description either.

I even called some friends over at Pearl. I still knew a few people in Naval Intelligence that owned me a favor or two. No one there knew anything either. They said they'd check their records, and get back to me, but I had a feeling they wouldn't turn anything up.

As a last resort, I stopped by the King Kamehameha Club to see Rick. Maybe he could find something.

* * *

Thomas walked into the King Kamehameha Club. No one was in the dining room; too early for dinner. He walked through the club to the beach front bar area. T.C. was there, having a late lunch. Rick was sitting at the table with T.C.

"Guys!" Thomas said.

"Look, T.M., before you ask for anything, remember that you owe me for that last little 'job' I did for you," T.C. snarled.

"Guys! Do I look like I need anything?" Thomas asked.

"You always want something," Rick answered. His real name was, believe it or not, Orville Wilbur Wright the third, but everyone called him "Rick."

"No, honest guys," Thomas pleaded. "I was just running down some info on a case and stopped here on the way home."

T.C. said, "I thought you finished your case a couple days ago."

"I did. This is a different case."

"Well, if you've got all these cases lately, then maybe you can pay me back that twenty you owe me from the poker game last week," Rick said.

"You'll get your money, Rick. I just don't have it right now."

Rick rolled his eyes. Same story every time. "When will you have it."

"Soon. Honest."

"So, what's this big case?"

"Oh, it's nothing. This gorgeous woman just fell into the ocean this morning and I rescued her. It's nothing, really."

"What?!?" T.C. and Rick both asked.

"A woman fell into the ocean?" T.C. asked. "How did that happen?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Thomas said.

"Where is she now?" Rick wondered.

"She's at the estate. Higgins is looking out for her. She's okay, but she's sleeping."

"You have any idea who she is?" Rick asked.

"No. I ran through the police department, Naval Intelligence, the whole gambit. Nothing." Thomas shrugged. "Maybe when she wakes up and I can get a name, but until then..."

"Oh, I get it now," Rick said. "You want me to see if Ice Pick knows anything. You think this woman might be in trouble."

"Gee, Rick, would you?" Thomas asked. "Tell Ice Pick I'd owe him one."

Rick shook his head, "You already do, Thomas. You already do." He paused. But Rick couldn't not help his friend. The three had been through too many scraps together in Viet Nam. They'd all stopped counting how many times they'd saved each other's lives. And they'd all stopped counting the number of favors they'd done each other since Nam.

"Give me her description," Rick said, "And I'll see if Ice Pick knows anything."

"Great, Rick. I knew I could count on you."

Thomas gave Rick the woman's description and then headed back to the estate. Hopefully, the mystery woman would be awake and he could get some answers to the questions he had.

* * *

Parking the Ferrari in front of the main house, Thomas went right in. He didn't see Higgins in the main hall or in the study. He finally found the Englishman in the kitchen, with the "lads." The lads were Higgins' watchdogs, two Dobermans named Zeus and Apollo. They sat at attention beside Higgins.

"Is she awake yet?"

"No," Higgins answered. "But I expect her to awaken soon. The last time I was upstairs to check on her, she seemed to be coming out of it. I'm fixing her some tea. Did you find out anything."

"Zilch," Thomas said. "It's as if she never existed. Rick's got Ice Pick looking into it, but none of my official sources came up with anything."

Higgins had the tea ready and was placing the teapot on a silver serving tray when the dogs startled and ran from the room. Higgins couldn't believe the actions of his dear lads. Then he saw what had scared them and the expression on his face changed. Thomas turned around to see what Higgins was looking at. It was her.

The woman stood at the entrance of the kitchen. She wore a bathrobe Higgins had laid out for her, her thick medium length black hair was still slightly damp and tangled about her face. Thomas thought she was about the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Certainly nothing that should scare a couple of dogs!

This was the first time he'd seen her upright. She was tall, not quite six foot. Maybe five ten or five eleven.

"Hello," Thomas said to the voice less woman. "My name is Thomas. This is Higgins. I found you this morning in the water."

"Uh, the water?" the woman asked, confused.

"Yes, you fell into the ocean. It was lucky I was out on my paddle board. I pulled you to shore."

The woman shook her head, as if to shake loose her thoughts. "I don't remember being in the water."

Higgins poured a cup of the tea. "Here, miss." He handed her the tea. She took it from him and cupped it under her nose for a moment before trying to take a sip.

"Please, sit down," Higgins directed the woman to the table.

After she sat and sipped the tea, the two men sat as well. "What is your name, miss?" Higgins asked.

"I...I don't remember," she said. "I'm sort of ...confused."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Thomas asked. He hoped that she could give him any clues possible.

The woman looked confused. She sipped the tea again and then said, "It was dark. I was in the city. There was someone chasing me. I don't remember much after that."

"That's not much to go on," Thomas said. "Look, I'm a private investigator. I can help you."

"That's very kind," the woman said. She looked at the man closely for the first time. He was tall, with thick wavy brown hair and a thick mustache. The other man, Higgins was it, had dark brown hair, a pencil thin mustache, and apparently a perpetual frown. His accent was obviously British. "Where am I?"

"This is Robin's Nest," Higgins responded. "It's the estate of Robin Masters, the novelist."

"Do you remember what brought you to Oahu?" Thomas asked. Was she a tourist? If she was, it would be possible to track her down by her airline or cruise ship reservations. Maybe she was a tourist and while sightseeing saw something she shouldn't have? The Japanese Mafia, the Yakuza, had a small but bloodthirsty foothold in the islands. Plus all the other organized crime and gangs. Wouldn't be improbable that a tourist could get off the beaten path and accidentally see something they weren't meant to.

"Oahu?" the woman asked, shaking her head. "Where's that?"

"Hawaii. It's an island in the state of Hawaii," Thomas explained softly. It was becoming obvious that this woman was more confused than he'd thought.

"I don't remember coming to Hawaii. I was in New York, I think...Gotham..." The woman broke down and started crying. Thomas helped her up and guided her back up stairs. He put her back into the bed in the guest room. She was asleep almost before he left the room.

* * *

### From the Journal of Thomas Magnum:

The next morning our mystery woman was feeling better, but still didn't remember who she was or why she was in Hawaii. After breakfast, I called Lt. Tanaka again. Asked him to check with NYPD. The woman had said something about New York. And "Gotham" was the slang for New York City.

Somehow, Higgins had found her clothes to wear. Where he found them, I have no idea, but then Higgins always was resourceful.

Thinking that she might regain some of her memory if she saw something familiar, I took her for a drive around the island.

My little voice was still warning me this woman was trouble, but now, I didn't have much more to go on.

* * *

The drive around the island yielded nothing. Mary didn't recognize anything. Mary, well, that wasn't her name, but Thomas had to call her something. So he christened her "Mary."

Before heading back to the estate, they stopped at the King Kamehameha Club. Thomas wanted to see if Rick had heard anything from Ice Pick.

Rick came out of the club's office when he heard Thomas' voice at the bar. Rick stopped dead in his tracks when he saw "Mary."

"Thomas, old buddy," Rick said, walking up behind the couple. "You are one lucky dog."

"Rick," Thomas warned. He turned to the bartender and asked for two iced teas. Plain ice tea. He guided Mary and Rick to a table.

Rick hung back a bit, forcing Thomas to lead Mary by himself. "Thomas, you never told us she was a knockout."

Thomas threw his friend a warning glance. "Mary, this is my friend, Rick."

"Mary, it's a real pleasure to meet any friend of Thomas'" Rick said, taking the woman's hand and kissing it, European style.

Thomas gave his friend another warning glance and sat beside Mary. "Well, Mary isn't her real name. She still doesn't remember her name. But I couldn't just call her 'Hey, you', now could I?"

"I think Mary is a nice name," Rick said.

"Rick, we just stopped by to see if you have any info," Thomas explained.

"Uh, no. Ice Pick didn't have any info."

"'Ice Pick'?" Mary asked. "That's a person?"

"Yeah, he's a business acquaintance of mine," Rick explained.

"He doesn't sound like a very nice person to me," Mary pronounced.

The waitress brought the iced teas. Rick waved her away. "They're on the house," he said.

"Gee, Rick, that's nice of you," Thomas said. He took a long drink from his tea.

Mary had gotten quiet suddenly. Thomas looked at her; she was staring at an sign over the bar. It was the Barcardi logo. "Mary, do you remember something?"

'Mary' continued to stare at the logo. It was long-winged bat in a round red circle. There was something about it that was familiar. There was something important about the bat...

Selina finally remembered everything. The Lion's Soul gem, the fiasco in Gotham, the escape from the Gotham City Police, the trip to New York, the run in with the British rent-a-cop, and then him again. Him--Batman.

She looked around. The two men were staring at her. She continued to look around. How had she ended up in Hawaii? She wondered. She remembered running down the alley, crashing into the two lovers. The guy, he had a grip like steel. She grabbed her arm and flinched from the soreness. The big guy had grabbed her and wouldn't let go.

She'd lost the gem and Batman had shown up a moment later, along with the British guy. And then the noise. That sound! Selina's ears still rung from the sound of... of what? She didn't know. But that was the last thing she remembered. Until waking up in Hawaii yesterday afternoon.

"Mary, are you okay?" Thomas asked. "Do you remember anything?"

"Uh, yeah, I thought I remembered something, but I'm not sure," Selina lied. She decided to play along with this Thomas guy for a little bit. She didn't know how she'd gotten all the way to Hawaii and didn't want to let on who she really was.

"Thomas, I'm feeling a little tired. Can we go back to your place? I mean, back to where Higgins lives?"

On the drive home, Thomas tried to explain that the Robin's Nest wasn't Higgins'. Higgins was only the on-site overseer. He explained that the Robin's Nest was the vacation getaway for Robin Masters, the world famous mystery writer. But no one ever saw Robin Masters, Thomas explained. Well, not "no one". It was just him, he never saw Robin Masters. He was half convinced that Robin Masters didn't really exist and Higgins was actually Masters.

By the time the Ferrari pulled into the estate, Selina was even more confused than before. About Higgins and Masters and Thomas that was. She had only been half listening to her tall dark knight. She was thinking about another tall dark knight. I don't know how I got here, she told herself, but I'm sure Batman will track me down.

* * *

That night, on the pretense of wanting to find something that might spur her memory, Selina asked Higgins for permission to look through the library. Higgins was more than helpful.

Selina settled into a comfortable easy chair in the corner of the library and began browsing through some newspapers. The stories didn't make any sense, they mentioned arms talks with the Soviets, and President Reagan. "Higgins," she said, "You ought to get some newspapers that are a little more up-to-date."

Higgins was studying some thick tome in the opposite corner of the library. "That's yesterday's newspaper, my dear. Thomas must have stolen today's for the baseball scores. There will be a new paper here tomorrow morning."

Selina looked at the front page of the newspaper in her hands. The cover date read November 10th, 1982. This must be a joke, she thought. But she'd seen the entire island--there was no way to fake that. Thinking that she was some lost tourist and that seeing the island would jog her memory, Thomas had driven her around the entire island. Some sort of highway went all the way around the coast of Oahu. Part of the route, that part through Honolulu, was actually an interstate highway.

She'd seen Pearl Harbor, Diamond Head, Waikiki Beach, the whole tourist bit. He'd driven by all the major hotels and the docked cruise ships. Of course nothing had spurred her memory. But there was no doubting that it was real and that she was here. And it was 1982!

How had that happened? Selina asked herself.

She scanned through the newspaper. And then looked through the other books in the library. It was not quite like a public library, but very well stocked for a private library. It was obvious that Robin Masters used the library in the course of his writing. There were tons of books relating to crime and detective work, and the military.

Selina spent nearly four hours in the library. She looked through every encyclopedia, every almanac, every reference book she could find. She found no references to the Batman, Superman, or any other costumed superheroes.

She finally thanked Higgins for allowing her to use the library.

"Did anything help you, dear?" he asked in his quaint British accent. Selina marveled that this voice was entirely different when he talked to her as compared to the way it was when he talked to Thomas. She couldn't quite see what the conflict between the two men was, but it was obvious.

"Maybe," she replied. "But I need to sleep on it."

"Good night, Mary," Higgins responded.

"Good night, Higgins," she said. She headed upstairs and into the guest room where she'd first awaken only the day before. Yes, she said, I have a lot to sleep on. Imagine, a world without Batman. A world without Superman. A world without any superheroes at all.

But a world with Catwoman was a world ripe for the picking...She thought she could stay on the island for a while before anyone figured out what was going on. There were no doubt lots of rich people in the islands. People that were totally ignorant to her brand of thievery.

She undressed and stretched out on the bed. Who said Paradise on Earth didn't exist, she thought as she drifted off to a peaceful slumber.

* * *


	12. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 12

### Deep space

The Lion's Soul gem reappeared in deep space, thousands of years ago. It drifted between the stars, until it fell into the influence of the gravity of a second-generation G-type star. It slowly began to accelerate toward the star.

It neared the end of its journey when it fell into the atmosphere of the third planet of the star.

As time was reckoned by the inhabitants of the planet, it was 7:17 in the morning of June 30, 1908 when the gem entered the atmosphere above the continent of Asia in the region called Siberia.

The friction of the atmosphere caused the gem to glow brightly as it fell. The gem absorbed some of the heat energy and began to pulse again with the energy that had first driven it through the spectrum of universes. The passage through the air left a 500 mile long iridescent trail that could be seen for hundreds of miles away.

At about six miles above Tunguska, the gemstone absorbed as much heat energy as it could and exploded.

The force of the blast flattened over 500,000 acres of the pine forest below. It killed thousands of the area's reindeer. Because the area was so sparsely inhabited, the number of people killed was unknown.

People 60 miles away were thrown to the ground and some knocked unconscious by the force of the explosion. One hundred miles away, people heard a thunderous noise. Seismic vibrations were recorded as far away as 600 miles from the area. The blast's electromagnetic pulse created radio interference all over the globe.

The explosion reduced part of the gemstone into several smaller pieces. The rest of the gem was converted to dust; some of the dust was later found embedded in the ground and trees of the region. These tiny bits of dust created the green globules of trinitite which were discovered in the area, similar to those produced at the Trinity site of the first atomic bomb test in New Mexico years later.

Some of the dust and larger particles were forced through the fabric of space and time into other universes. The largest single piece bounced back into the air from the force of the explosion and the compressed atmosphere beneath it.

Eighty years later, scientists would calculate that the force of the explosion was equal to 40 megatons of TNT. The force of this explosion wouldn't be equaled by humans until the development of hydrogen fusion bombs in the late 1950's. Had the gemstone exploded over a populated area, the death toll could have reached millions.

* * *

The largest piece of the shattered gemstone followed a trajectory to the southeast of the blast site. It flew over the nations of Mongolia and China before landing on a remote hilltop on the Korean peninsula. It created a small crater, but after several years of erosion, the form of the crater softened into a simple depression in the hillside.

The Lion's Soul gemstone had fractured along the natural planes of its crystalline structure. Originally the size of a man's fist, the only remaining piece was know roughly the same size and shape of a man's thumb.

* * *

### Korea, 1952

Corporal James Thomas Kirk, "Jimmy" to his buddies, was assigned to the 2nd Infantry Division of the United States 8th Army. His regiment was the famous 23rd Infantry.

The 23rd Infantry Regiment had been formed in 1861, during the American Civil War. Since its beginnings, the 23rd had developed a tradition for itself. Soldiers from many different generations had fought under the regimental colors. They had fought in battles at places known to history as Manassas, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, Petersburg, and Little Big Horn. They had fought in this century at places called Lorraine, Aisne, Ile de France, St. Mihiel, and Meuse-Argonne, and then Normandy, Northern France, Rhineland, and Ardennes-Alsace. Now, they were in Korea defending the south from the invading Communists of the north.

Jimmy Kirk was the first from his family to leave their Iowa homestead. He doubted he'd be the last. He'd been drafted in the summer of 1951, a year after the "police action" in Korea started. He was proud to be one of the Tomahawks, as the soldiers of the 23rd Regiment were known; the sense of history and tradition meant a lot to him. But all things considered, he'd much prefer to be home.

Jimmy had graduated from high school only two years before. He'd been dating Sally for almost three years now and had been thinking about asking her to marry him. He'd made his decision only the day before the draft notice had arrived. He'd put off the marriage proposal until after the returned from the service. He'd been in Korea for almost six months now, through the cold winter and into the wet spring of 1952.

Right now, he and his platoon were pinned down by North Korean and Chinese mortar fire. He and his buddies hugged the side of an unnamed hill somewhere in central Korea.

His lieutenant was on the radio. The platoon had taken just one casualty so far, their platoon sergeant. But unless an air strike or artillery barrage could loosen up the enemy mortar fire, there would be a lot more men killed or injured. The platoon had a mortar of their own, but so far had been unable to find the range of the enemy position and they were quickly running out of ammunition.

The shrill whistle of an incoming enemy round drove everyone to hug the ground. Jimmy pushed himself as far into the rocky ground as he could. His face was resting right in the dirt as he waited for the blast.

This blast hit about thirty yards in front of him. Jimmy looked up to see that his best friend, Joey, had been hit. Jimmy started to crawl forward to help his friend before the dust from the blast even settled. He'd only crawled about ten yards before the dust settled enough for him to see there was no need to go any further. Joey was laying sprawled out on the rocky ground, his helmet had been blown off and half his head was gone.

Jimmy averted his eyes and fought not to lose his lunch. He lost that fight. He hunched over a large rock and his stomach heaved.

When he was finished, Jimmy crawled away from where he'd been sick. Life in Korea was bad enough; he didn't want to die slumped over a puddle of vomit.

Corporal Kirk crawled maybe twenty yards back toward the platoon's lieutenant before he heard the sound of another incoming round. He hugged the ground again. This time, when he looked up, he saw that his lieutenant had been hit. The man was moving, thrashing in pain. At least he wasn't killed, Jimmy thought. Like Joey.

It took a moment for Kirk to remember that with the lieutenant injured and the sergeant killed, he was in charge of the whole platoon. He bowed his head and took a couple deep breaths. He didn't want to be in charge of 35 guys. There were other men in the platoon with more experience.

Jimmy was looking down at the ground and continued breathing. He was trying to figure out how to get the men out of this mess. He thought about pulling back, but the mortars had them pinned down. He thought about calling for air support, but the lieutenant had been arguing with the air dispatch for the last half hour. Either the Air Force had the support to send or not. If so, they would have been here before now.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice the crystal on the ground. It was right in front of his eyes, but he almost hadn't seen it. He'd never seen anything shine so bright in the Korean sunlight. He fumbled to grab it; for no reason particularly, he just thought it looked neat. Almost without thinking, he put the crystal in his pants pocket.

There had been no more North Korean mortars for a while now. Kirk thought about it; maybe the enemy was out of ammo too. Or they thought they got all of us. We've been pinned down here and haven't moved enough, Kirk thought. Maybe their spotters can't see us.

He crawled slowly to the two guys that had the platoon's own mortar. He went as slow as possible in hopes of not attracting any more attention from the enemy spotters. It took Jimmy over half an hour to move thirty yards.

When he got to his squad mates, Jimmy took inventory. They had exactly four mortar rounds left. Jimmy took the binoculars from one of the men and studied the surrounding area. He thought he could just make out the enemy position, about 500 yards to the west, over the crest of the hill.

He adjusted the angle of the mortar tube and instructed the men to fire one round. Jimmy watched with the binoculars. The round fell short, but he could see the North Koreans scrambling to return the fire. That was the problem with firing a mortar; its range was short enough that it gave away your own position.

Jimmy made a quick adjustment to the tube and nodded for the men to fire again. This time, the round was right on target. He saw several North Koreans slumped lifeless on the ground.

* * *

Later that day, the air strikes finally came. They cleared out the enemy positions and reinforcements came up from the rear.

Corporal James Kirk reported their actions to the Marine captain that headed up the group that secured the hill. The captain seemed impressed with Kirk's actions. It might just mean a medal, Jimmy thought as he returned the Captain's salute.

That night Jimmy was getting ready to sack out in his foxhole when he remembered the crystal he'd found. He dug it out of his pocket and studied it in the dim light. He figured it was some sort of lucky charm and returned it to his pocket. He fell asleep quickly, tired from the day's actions.

* * *

The lucky charm seemed to work. For almost three months, Jimmy Kirk's squad continued fighting on the front lines and received no more casualties. 

The luck wore off on June 1, 1952. Kirk and half of his squad were injured trying to retake a hill from the Chinese. It was a hill very similar to the one where Jimmy had found the crystal.

Jimmy took machine gun fire in his left leg. He drifted in and out of consciousness. He lost track of time.

Kirk didn't remember the medics finding him or the evacuation to the aid station four miles behind the line. He drifted in and out as the aid station doctor gave him morphine and bandaged his wound.

His first cognizant thought was of a bumpy ambulance ride. Each bump made his wound hurt. Between the bumps, the morphine eased the pain. The ambulance ride finally ended and Jimmy took a deep sigh of relief.

The door of the ambulance opened and the medics unloaded Jimmy and two other injured soldiers. One of the medics was wearing a woman's hat and had a large nose and a thick beard shadow. "Hey, Captain Hunnicut, where do you want these guys?" the medic yelled across the compound.

"Over here, Klinger," came the reply. Captain B. J. Hunnicut, surgeon, was directing triage. Triage was the initial assessment of the wounded. They would then be treated in priority order. The most seriously wounded patients would be taken into surgery first. Those with more minor wounds were given painkillers and maybe blood or plasma, and then taken into surgery next.

And sometimes the wounded didn't make it from the aide station. It was the triage doctor's responsibility to pronounce those few unfortunate souls as dead.

The medics carried Jimmy on a stretcher. He turned his head from side to side to see where he was, but couldn't tell. Just a few tents and a lot of people running around. The medics laid the stretcher down and left in a hurry.

Major Margaret Houlihan was the head nurse at the 4077th. She was rushing about, assisting her nurses in the triage. Until a couple weeks ago, all the doctors would be out here also. But she had proposed a new system. A system where the nurses, overseen by a single doctor, would do the triage. That would free up the other doctors to begin working on the worst cases. She'd trained her nurses hard, and they'd come through with flying colors.

The system was working. Doctor Hunnicut was supervising today. But Margaret was still nervous and she hurried from patient to patient making sure everything was okay.

She saw one soldier that no one had gotten to yet. Houlihan looked around for someone to attend to the soldier. She saw no one available at the moment, and went to him herself. She might be the head nurse and more than willing to delegate authority when necessary, but she never shirked doing the hard work herself.

Jimmy started to panic when he saw a blonde nurse knell over him. She had a clipboard and started to check his dog tags and look at his leg. "It's alright, solider," Houlihan said. "You're at a MASH. The doctors will be fixing your leg right up and then you're going home."

He couldn't see the nurse's nametag, but he saw the gold oak leaf on her collar. She was a major. He didn't realize there were woman majors.

Just then, Jimmy sensed a shadow standing over him. For a split second, he thought it was the Grim Reaper himself, but then the shadow knelt down and became a man. A man in a white coat. A doctor.

"He's been hit in the leg. Looks bad, might be tendon damage around the knee and vascular damage too," Hunnicut said. "Let's give him another grain of morphine and start a unit of whole blood. I think he can wait a bit."

"Yes, Dr. Hunnicut," the nurse said.

The doctor finally took a moment to look at Jimmy and not his leg. "You'll be okay, son. I'm a doctor and we'll get your leg fixed right up."

"Am I going... to lose it...sir?" Jimmy had heard stories about men getting shot in the leg or arm and having to have the limb amputated. He didn't want to go home with only one leg.

"No," the doctor smiled, his teeth white and shining under a thick mustache. "I'm the best doctor here. I always put all the parts back in when I'm done with the patient."

As he was talking to the doctor, Houlihan had started an IV in his arm. Jimmy looked up to see a bottle of blood hanging from a stand. The doctor left to tend to another patient.

"You'll be fine," Houlihan said before also leaving.

Jimmy laid there, trying not to think about how bad he was wounded. Tendon damage, the doctor had said. Maybe vascular damage too.

He could sense people hurrying around him, but no one came back to Corporal Kirk for what seemed to be a long time. The drugs were making him sleepy again and he nodded off.

Kirk woke a few minutes later as a different nurse was cutting his pants off. She didn't talk as she did it, but just as she finished, another person came by.

"Hi," the man said, "I'm Corporal O'Reily, but everyone calls me Radar. You're at the 4077th MASH. I'm the company clerk here. I need to put all your valuables and stuff in this box."

The man, O'Reily he'd said his name was, started to remove the contents of Kirk's pockets and put them into a small cardboard box. "It's okay, you'll get everything back. I promise." Jimmy looked up at the man, and realized he couldn't have been much older than Jimmy himself. The man wore wire framed glasses that looked like they'd never been cleaned.

"Oh, this is pretty," Radar said. He held the crystal up so Jimmy could see what he was talking about.

"That's my good...my good luck...charm..." Jimmy tried to say. He was so tired. The second shot of morphine was starting to take effect.

"It must be lucky," Radar said. "It's working now. The doctors here are the best. They'll fix you up real good."

That was the last thing Jimmy Kirk remembered until he woke up after the surgery.

* * *

### A small island somewhere in the Pacific

"Skipper! Hey, Skipper!" Gilligan yelled. He ran down the path toward the huts.

The Skipper was sitting at the table with the Professor, Mary Ann, and Ginger.

"Hey, Skipper!" Gilligan slid to a halt beside the table.

"Yes, Gilligan?" the Skipper said.

Gilligan was out of breath and had to take a couple gulps of air before he could talk.

"I found...It's a big...In the jungle..."

"What did you find, Gilligan?" the Skipper asked, trying to remain patient with his friend.

"In the jungle...about this high..."

"Calm down, Gilligan," Mary Ann said. "Do you want some mango juice?" The pretty little brunette handed the first mate of the S.S. Minnow a coconut shell filled with mango juice. Gilligan downed the entire shell in one gulp.

"Now, Gilligan, try again," the Skipper said. "What was it you found?"

"It's a big metal box. I'll beat it fell out of a plane."

"A big metal box? In the jungle? It's probably just something left over from the war. These islands were used in the war for ammo dumps and supply depots," The Skipper had served in the war and know what he was talking about.

"No. It fell out of a plane, I know it. Last night."

"I didn't hear anything," the Skipper said.

"Skipper," the Professor interrupted. "I thought I heard something last night. Maybe he has found something."

"Yeah, yeah, a big metal box. I wonder what's in it?" Gilligan was babbling. "I bet it's a robot. One of these big robots the space guys are always shooting to the moon."

"Maybe it's food," Mary Ann said. "Could be a food cart from an airliner. I would die for a hot fudge sundae." Her eyes turned all misty over the thought of something other than mangos or coconuts.

The group had been stranded on the island for years now. They had all been on a island cruise aboard the S.S. Minnow when a freak storm had thrown them off course. The Skipper and his first mate, Gilligan, had managed to keep the ship afloat during the storm and they had eventually landed on this uncharted island. But the ship was severely damaged. They'd lost their two-way radio during the storm and had no way of calling for help. The authorities had searched for their ship, but they'd blown so far off course, the Coast Guard never found them.

The island had plentiful foliage; they ate a steady diet of coconuts, mangos, papayas, and bananas. They sometimes caught fish in the lagoon and on rare occasions even captured and killed a wild boar. It was enough to survive on, but the diet got monotonous. One of the castaways favorite past times was to sit around the table and tell each other what they missed from back home. Mary Ann was a farm girl from Kansas. She almost always talked about what foods she missed.

"Well what are we waiting for?" Ginger asked. Even though they were stranded on a desert island, the movie star was wearing an evening gown. Ginger had been in Hawaii for a publicity tour promoting her latest movie. All she had in her luggage was the gowns she'd planned to wear on the tour. Mary Ann had volunteered some her own clothes, but the two women were completely different sizes.

"Let's go," The Professor said. "Gilligan, lead the way."

The five castaways headed into the jungle. On the way, they ran into the Howells. Millionaire Thurston Howell the Third and his wife, Lovey, were coming back up the path from the beach.

"Gilligan found something in the jungle," Mary Ann explained.

"We're going to look for it," Ginger said.

"It's a big metal box that fell out of the sky," Gilligan told the millionaire and his wife. "I'll bet it's a space robot."

"Well, my boy, let's go see," Howell said. He dropped the folding deck chair and umbrella he was carrying. It was the Howell's morning ritual to go to the beach, sit in their deck chairs under the umbrella and listen to the financial report on the single portable radio.

"Oh, Thurston, am I dressed for an expedition into the jungle?" Lovey asked.

"Why, Lovey, I don't know," Howell confessed. "I've never financed an expedition before."

* * *

The metal box Gilligan found was resting at a 45 degree angle and was half buried in the soft jungle soil. It had hit a coconut tree as it fell. The Professor examined the tree. The fresh gouges in the tree trunk proved Gilligan's assertion that the object had fallen last night or at least recently.

The box was about five feet square, but only about three foot tall. Upon closer examination, the box turned out to be more of a platform. The base was about a foot thick. The outside of the box was little more than a railing.

On one side of the box was what appeared to be a royal crest. The Professor couldn't make out any of the markings; the crest had been damaged. On one of the railings, there was a panel with switches, dials, and buttons on it.

"Well, it's not a space robot, Gilligan," the Professor announced.

"What is it, Professor?" The Skipper had taken his hat off and was wringing it anxiously in his hands.

"Yeah, Professor, what is it?" the rest of them asked in unison.

"I don't know. But it's obviously got electronic components," he said as he pointed to some loose wires that poked through a broken panel in the side of the box. "I might be able to use the parts from this..." the Professor searched for a word, but couldn't find it. "This...whatever to fix the radio. This may very well get us off the island."

The group cheered at the prospect of leaving the island.

* * *

### Korea, 1952

When Jimmy Kirk awoke, he realized he was in a hospital. It took him a minute or two to recall the events of the previous day. He was at a MASH--a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital. That meant he was still pretty close to the front. Being mobile, the hospital could move as needed to remain as close to the fighting as possible. The closer the hospital was, the quicker the wounded could be treated. It was an experiment the Army was trying for the first time. And so far, the experiment was a success. A higher percentage of wounded soldiers were being returned to duty than ever before. And of those soldiers too seriously injured to return to duty, a higher percentage were going home alive than in previous conflicts.

Jimmy looked around. There were about 10 other guys in the beds around him. He recognized Scotty in the bed next to him.

"Scotty" was a nickname. Corporal James Scott Johnson had joined the platoon about 3 months ago. Corporal Johnson insisted that he'd been called Jimmy since he was a little boy, but the platoon christened him "Scotty" to avoid confusion with James Kirk. 

Scotty was asleep and Jimmy didn't wake him. To be honest, Jimmy didn't feel much like talking right now anyway. His throat hurt and he needed a drink of water. He looked around for a nurse, but didn't see one.

"Nurse," he called out weakly.

"I'm not a nurse, but will I do?" It was a slender dark-haired man with a slight touch of gray. "I'm Dr. Pierce, but you can call me 'Hawkeye'."

"...thirsty..." Jimmy said.

Dr. Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, of Crabapple Cove, Maine, looked at the patient's chart. This was the knee reconstruction BJ had done the day before. "Yep, says right here you can have as much as you want. When you're hungry, you can have as much to eat as you want. But I'd recommend waiting until we discharge you. If you eat the food from our mess, you'll end up sicker than you are now."

Hawkeye poured a glass of water and helped Jimmy lift his head to drink.

After drinking the water, Jimmy found it easier to talk. "How's Scotty?" he asked.

"Scotty?" Hawkeye guessed Jimmy was talking about the guy in the bed next to them. Scotty Johnson was the one that Hawkeye had operated on.

Jimmy nodded toward the man in the bed next to his, confirming Hawkeye's guess.

"What do we have here?" Colonel Sherman T. Potter, commanding officer of the 4077th, walked up and leaned on the chart rack at the end of the bed. A short man, the chart rack was just the height for him to rest his arms on.

"Uh, Colonel," Hawkeye said. "This is Corporal Jimmy Kirk. BJ fixed up his knee yesterday. Jimmy was asking about his buddy here." Hawkeye pointed to the other bed.

Potter nodded.

Hawkeye answered the Corporal's question. "Corporal Johnson had a nasty shoulder wound. But he'll be okay. Probably just still sleeping off the drugs we gave him during surgery."

"Thanks, doc," Jimmy said.

"You're welcome," Hawkeye said. Knowing that the patient was in good hands with Colonel Potter, Hawkeye left to complete his rounds.

"I'm Colonel Potter. I'm the CO here."

Jimmy tried with difficulty to salute the officer. His arm was tangled in the IV tubing.

"At ease, Corporal," Potter said. "We're not too formal around here."

"Thank you, Colonel, sir," Jimmy said.

"I just wanted to stop by and see if everything was okay. We get a lot of soldiers through here. I can't talk to every one, but I try to talk to as many as I can," Potter explained. The doctor picked up Kirk's chart. "Ah, says here you're from Iowa?"

"Yes, sir."

"You'll probably be getting a visit from my company clerk. He's from Iowa too," Potter explained.

Colonel Potter chatted with Kirk for a few minutes and then moved on. Jimmy watched as the older man did the same routine with each of the men in the ward that were awake.

Jimmy watched Doctor Pierce check the chart of the patient in the bed opposite his. He heard the doctor talking with the nurse; heard him say something about "give me reports on Corporal Sheffield every hour." Jimmy wondered if Corporal Sheffield, the patient, was another of his buddies from his platoon. He tilted his head up and looked across the small recovery room, but the patient's head was almost totally covered in bandages. Whoever he was, the guy looked in a bad way.

He hoped it wasn't Bones. His friend, Charles Sheffield, was called "Bones" because he was so skinny. "Nothing but skin and bones," everyone in the platoon would say when describing Sheffield. Despite his skinniness, Bones was one of their best snipers.

Jimmy thought about all the stories Bones had told the gang about growing up down south in Mississippi. He claimed to have gotten so good at shooting by having hunted squirrels. "I'm just a poor ol' country boy," Bones would say.

He watched as the nurse took the patient's temperature and blood pressure. She didn't look encouraged as she wrote the results in the chart.

Jimmy suddenly felt very lucky. I guess my lucky charm was working after all, he thought.

* * *

Kirk woke up in the middle of the night. His knee hurt something fierce. "Nurse," he called. No one heard him.

Out of no where, a doctor appeared. "What do you need, son?" The doctor had a silver oak cluster on his collar. A Lieutenant Colonel.

"My knee hurts," Jimmy said. "Need something..."

The doctor looked at the chart. "Yeah, it's been a while since your last morphine shot. I'll make sure the nurse gets you something."

"Thank you, sir," Jimmy said. The pain was already easing, just knowing that he was going to get some relief.

The doctor said, "I'm Colonel Blake, the CO around here." The tall man bent over and checked Jimmy's dressings. "Your knee's going to be okay."

"Yes, sir," Jimmy said. He was tired and in pain, but he thought the older Colonel had said he was the commanding officer earlier. Now this Lieutenant Colonel was claiming to be. Jimmy yawned, tired and confused.

"So you're from Iowa, huh?"

Jimmy nodded, yawning again.

"I'm from Bloomington, Indiana. We're practically neighbors," the officer said.

* * *

The next morning, a nurse came by to take Kirk's vitals and to give him another shot. "But I just had a shot," Jimmy told her.

The nurse double-checked the chart. "You had one last night about 21 hundred. You've got to be in pain by now."

"No, ma'am," Jimmy said. "I had one in the middle of the morning. The doctor came by and okayed it."

"It's not on the chart," Nurse Kelley said. "I'll need to check with the doctor." She looked around. Hawkeye and Major Winchester were at the end of the ward, discussing something. "Doctor?" she called out.

Both doctors came over. "Yes, Kelley?" Hawkeye said.

She handed the chart to Hawkeye. "He says he had a morphine shot sometime early in the morning. Said a doctor okayed it. But it's not in the chart."

"I was the doctor in charge last night," Major Charles Emerson Winchester said. "I didn't okay any morphine for this patient."

"There's nothing on the chart," Hawkeye said. "Do you remember the doctor?" he asked the corporal.

"I don't remember..." Jimmy said. "He was tall, said he was from Indiana. He was a lieutenant colonel, I think..."

"Wait a minute," Hawkeye interrupted, tossing the chart to Winchester. "Indiana, you said? Colonel Blake was the only person we've ever had here from Indiana..."

"Blake, yeah, that was the name..." Jimmy said.

Hawkeye felt the blood rush from his head and the hairs on the back of his neck tingled. "Son, Colonel Henry Blake is dead. There's no way Henry could have ordered your shot."

"I don't know, sir..."

"Pierce, it's obvious this man is in pain from his injury and the subsequent surgery. He's confused and tired. It's also patently obvious that he hallucinated the entire conversation. Nurse, please give this patient his scheduled shot," Charles said. He handed the chart back to Nurse Kelley and resumed his shift change paper work at the desk at the end of the ward.

Kelley looked at Hawkeye. He nodded agreement with Charles' orders and headed outside for some fresh air.

Outside in the chill morning air, Hawkeye took a couple deep breaths. He hadn't thought of Henry Blake since that terrible day six months ago when Henry's plane was shot down--on the way home no less. How the hell would a patient even know Blake's name? Hawkeye asked himself.

He thought maybe this was some sort of sick joke. Maybe something Charles cooked up to get back at him and BJ for putting pudding in Charles' underwear. But even Charles wasn't vindictive enough to do something this sick. And Winchester wasn't even here when Blake had left. And Corporal Kirk didn't look to be in any shape to be in on the joke.

Was Henry haunting the 4077th? Hawkeye couldn't explain the young soldier's story and it left him with a bad feeling.

* * *


	13. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 13

### USS Enterprise, in the Beta Quadrant

"Commander La Forge, can we beam him aboard?" Picard asked.

Geordi La Forge, the Enterprise's chief engineer, stood at the Engineering station at the rear of the bridge. He was watching the sensor scan intently on his own monitor. "I'm not sure, Captain," the engineer said. "The anomaly is creating a highly localized temporal field. Beaming him out of there will be a problem."

La Forge had no idea if the alien was a man or not, but they all assumed it was male ever since Q had taunted them with the "Tin *Man*" riddle.

"How so?" the captain asked.

"Well, basically, the flow of time is slowed by a factor of about 2,000 right in the anomaly. Where the lifeform is, time is pretty much slowed to a crawl. Everything is going two thousand times slower, including his molecular processes. To suddenly transfer him to our 'normal' time flow might be too great of a stress. It could also cause problems with the Heisenberg compensators in the transporter matter buffer."

"Either way, it could kill him," Crusher said. 

"I concur," Dr. Bashir said, from the Defiant. 

Picard had almost forgotten about their companion ship. "Captain Sisko, everyone," he addressed the crew of the Defiant and his own crew, "Does anyone have any ideas?" 

No one said anything for several long minutes as they all searched their brains for a solution to this tricky problem. They all knew that the humanoid figure at the center of the anomaly might also have answers their larger questions. What was the anomaly and why was it placing their universe at harm. To beam the person aboard and communicate with it might answer those questions. 

Picard finally stopped waiting. "Data, you and La Forge coordinate with Mr. O'Brien on the Defiant. Find a way to get that man out of there." 

"Yes, sir," Data replied. 

"Number One," Picard addressed his first officer, "You have the bridge. I'll be in my ready room preparing our report to Starfleet." 

"Aye, Captain." 

* * *

It was almost an hour before Picard finished with his initial report to Starfleet Command. When he walked back on the bridge of the Enterprise, he saw that Chief O'Brien had beamed over from the Defiant. The Chief was at the Engineering station with Data and La Forge. The three were deep in discussion.

"Report, Commander?"

Riker stood from the center chair. "We have an idea. Commander La Forge?"

"Yes, Commander," Geordi said. He turned his attention to Picard and headed down the ramp to the command area. "We've taken readings from the surrounding area. The temporal field around the anomaly appears to be stable and it's time dampening effect lessens the further you move from the center. Our idea is to take three shuttle craft and string them along between here and the anomaly. We can then use them as transporter relay stations. Each one will be time shifted slightly from the next, but will provide us a way to move the man into our 'faster' time frame gently enough to prevent any lasting damage. To either him or our equipment."

"Captain Sisko?" Picard called out. The Enterprise computer automatically placed Sisko's face on the main viewer. The other captain was waiting patiently on the bridge of the Defiant.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Have you heard about this plan?"

"Yes. A couple of us over here helped a little with some of the sensor scans. Dr. Bashir has faith that it'll work," Sisko said.

"Dr. Crusher. Your opinion?"

Dr. Beverly Crusher shrugged. "I don't know Jean-Luc. It might work. Until we know what race this man belongs to, we have no way of knowing how he'll handle the temporal stress. And there's too much interference to determine more than that he's alive and humanoid."

Picard considered all the options. "Any other problems?"

Data said, "Yes, Captain. Even using this method, we will still have to run our transporter buffers at near their maximum load. We will have to turn off some of the safety protocols."

"Which ones?" Picard asked.

"We'll have to turn off the transporter biofilter," La Forge explained. "Nor the automatic disabling of weapons."

Picard nodded his understanding.

The transporter biofilter was standard on all Starfleet vessels. It was a component that scanned and removed disease and virus organisms from incoming individuals during the transport process. Likewise, if the transportee was carrying a known weapon, the transporter computer automatically removed the harmful object or objects from the transport. These systems prevented accidental contamination of the ship and its crew by a person being transported aboard and increased security.

"Can we beam him into a isolated area?"

"We're setting up an area in Sickbay right now," Crusher replied. "Level one bio-containment."

"And security force fields," Riker added. "Shouldn't be any problems. We'll use the emergency medical hologram as an extra set of hands inside the isolation area."

"Good, Number One, good," Picard said, nodding. "Make it so," he ordered.

* * *

It took a couple hours to reprogram the shuttle craft transporters and autopilots. Because of the temporal interference, the shuttles would be dispatched using a pre-programmed flight plan and under control of the on-board autopilots.

Also because of the temporal interference, it would take several hours to move the first shuttle closest to the anomaly. As it moved closer to the anomaly, everything slowed down for the shuttle. What should be a two minute trip would become a several hours before the shuttle was in position.

Once in position, the first shuttle would then transport the man from the center of the anomaly. It would then rematerialize him on a portable transporter in the shuttle's passenger compartment. After a ten-second delay, it would then transport him to the next shuttle. Once the transport was completed, the shuttle's autopilot would bring the shuttle back.

The process would be repeated three times, with the Enterprise-E being the transport target on the third and last transport. If all went well, the man would materialize in the isolation bay of Sickbay where the EMH waited to administer any medical treatment that might be required.

The command crews of the Defiant and the Enterprise waited patiently for the shuttles to move into position. A countdown ticked by one the main screens of both bridges.

Eventually, the countdown reached zero.

"Well?" Riker asked.

"Commander," Data explained, "The shuttle closest to the anomaly is slowed down by a factor of over 1,500 times. The ten second transport delay there will take over four hours for us. Each stage moves approximately a factor of magnitude faster. The man will be beamed into sickbay in exactly 4.38 hours from now.

"So we wait," Riker said.

"Yes, Commander," Data agreed. "We wait."

Four hours later, Picard, Riker, Data, and La Forge met in Sickbay. They joined Dr. Crusher there. From behind the bio-isolation and security force fields, they watched the final stage of the transport process.

At exactly 4.382 hours after the transport began, they saw a man in red and gold armor beam into the chamber.

* * *

Iron Man sensed a light getting brighter. He hadn't remembered falling unconscious, but he must have been. As he awoke, the first thing that came to him was that the armor was off-line.

What the hell happened? Tony Stark asked himself inside the passive metal shell.

He looked out from the eye slits and saw what he first took for a clean room. As he looked around, he saw that it was some sort of medical suite, but one far more advanced that even the one at the Avengers Mansion.

There was an intense partially bald man standing beside him. The man was dressed in what appeared to be some sort of uniform. It was largely black, but had a stripe of blue running from shoulder to shoulder. He didn't look harmful, but Iron Man wouldn't have been able to defend himself even if the man did try to hurt him. With the armor off-line, it was simply a heavy metal weight that he could barely support.

"Please state the nature of your medical emergency," the man stated.

"Medical emergency?" Iron Man asked.

The man looked perplexed. "If there's no medical emergency, why was I activated?"

Iron Man looked around. Behind a transparent wall, he saw four men and a woman watching him and this strange man.

"Emergency Medical Hologram," the woman behind the wall said, "This is Doctor Crusher, Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise. Your patient is in a bio-isolation field. You need to conduct a preliminary medical examination of the patient."

The Enterprise? Stark thought. This didn't look like any aircraft carrier he'd ever seen. It looked more advanced than even the SHIELD Helicarrier.

"Understood," the man beside him said. The man grabbed a small plastic box about the size of paperback book and began moving it around in front of Iron Man. "Can you remove your garment, please?" the man asked Stark. "The metal in it is interfering with my tricorder."

Tricorder? Stark wondered. He didn't have any idea where he was, but he was loathe to remove the armor. He glanced at the displays internal to the helmet to try and figure out what was wrong. The passive power displays showed that the armor had 85% full power, but the entire suit was off-line. He saw that the reboot process was failing. Over and over again, the suit tried to reboot itself, but it failed at a point very early in the boot up process. He wouldn't be able to do anything until he could get out of the suit and do some major diagnostics.

"Where am I?" Stark asked. He knew that with the suit off-line, the voice changer built into the helmet wouldn't be working. He just hoped that it baffled his voice enough to prevent anyone from determining his identity. Enough people knew that Tony Stark was Iron Man as it was; he didn't need any more to find out.

The older man in the group spoke up. "You're aboard the USS Enterprise. I'm Captain Picard. This is my ship." The man had in a similar uniform to that of the "doctor" beside him, except that his had a red accent. The other men also wear similar uniforms. The tall one with the beard also wear red, but the other two, the one with the funny eyes and the pale skinned one wear yellow. The woman was apparently a doctor; she wore a similar uniform, but it was largely covered by a white medical jacket.

It struck Stark that the older man looked a lot like Dr. Charles Xavier, the renowned expert on mutants. Iron Man wondered if this Captain Picard was a relative of Professor Xavier.

"This doesn't look like the Enterprise I know," Iron Man said. "Since when did the Navy change uniforms."

"Navy?" Picard asked. "Ah, you must think you're aboard the naval carrier from the twentieth century." As an amateur historian, Picard was well versed in military history. And even if he hadn't been, as captain of the Enterprise, he would have known the illustrious history of the line of ships by that name.

"If I'm not on the Enterprise of the twentieth century, what century is this?" Iron Man asked.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're in the twenty-fourth century," Picard said.

"I see."

Picard had seen men and woman that were displaced in time previously. He and his crew had encountered a number of such displaced people while on the Enterprise-D. They had encountered the USS Bozeman NCC-1941, a Starfleet vessel displaced by almost 100 years do to a temporal causality loop, as well as a small bunch of people that had been recovered from cryogenic stasis after nearly three hundred years.

All of the individuals Picard had previously encountered had a problem believing that they were now far into the future. Granted, the armor made it hard to read this man's expressions, but Picard had the feeling that the man wasn't overly surprised.

Well, that answers that question, Stark thought. The last time he'd been on Doom's time machine, he and Doom had gone backwards in time. This time, he'd gone forward. If he was in the future, and as far forward as the twenty-fourth century, then that meant he was already dead. The fact that Iron Man was really Tony Stark was a matter for the history books. He had no secrets here.

He reached up and pressed the hidden manual studs that released the helmet when the suit was powered down. Normally, the helmet could only be removed by cybernetic command, but in the event the suit computer wasn't working, Stark didn't want to be trapped in the armor.

He pulled off the helmet and laid it down on the bed next to where he was standing.

"Captain Picard," Stark said, "My name is Tony Stark. I'm from the year 2000."

"Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Mr. Stark," Picard said.

* * *

The EMH gave Tony Stark a clean bill of health and confirmed that Stark didn't carry anything more harmful than a few common cold germs. The EMH gave Stark a hypospray of general anti-virals and then concurred with Dr. Crusher that his assistance was no longer needed.

Dr. Crusher deactivated the Emergency Medical Hologram and turned off the bio-isolation field. With Picard's consent, she also deactivated the security field and moved into isolation bay to run her own medical tricorder over Mr. Stark.

While Crusher examined her patient, Picard and his other officers interrogated the newcomer.

"We found you in the midst of a temporal anomaly, Mr. Stark," Picard explained. "Exactly how did you come to be there?"

Stark tried to explain briefly how Doom's machine had been accidentally activated. It must have brought him here.

While Stark told his story, Data began reviewing the historical records from a nearby computer terminal. "Captain," Data reported, "I've scanned our history records. There are no mention of an Anthony Stark, an 'Iron Man' or anyone by the name of Baron Victor Von Doom in the records."

"Believe me, Captain, I'm telling the truth," Stark said. "I realize how fabulous it must sound."

"I think I can explain the discrepancy," Crusher offered. She showed Picard the tricorder reading. "Mr. Stark here is isn't from our universe. His quantum frequency is all wrong."

Picard studied the readings and then turned to his officers. "Data, can you confirm this?"

The pale man named Data picked up a tricorder and began to move it in front of Stark. With the man closer, Stark was able to observe him in better detail. "You're an android," Stark said.

"Yes I am," Data agreed.

"How did you figure that out?" La Forge asked.

"I'm an engineer," Stark said. "And I've met a few androids in my day." He thought about his fellow Avenger, the Vision. "Built a few too. Are those artificial eyes?"

"Yes," La Forge said, somewhat uncomfortable with the attention. After a lifetime of wearing his visor, he was still getting used to the attention his new ocular implants caused. La Forge had been scanning the armor Stark was wearing. "Did you design this suit?"

"Yes."

"If so, to say that you're an 'engineer' is an understatement. This is like nothing I've ever seen before." La Forge was obviously impressed.

"And did you also build that artificial heart?" Crusher asked. "And the nervous system?" Her medical scan had uncovered an artificial heart beating in Stark's chest and an augmented nervous system running through most of the man's body. The heart wasn't as sophisticated as Jean-Luc's, but considerably advanced considering that Stark was from nearly 400 years in the past.

"I had a little help with both of those," Stark admitted. It was now obvious to Stark that the handheld devices they were using were sophisticated scanners of some sort. They were apparently a standard diagnostic tool aboard this ship.

Stark explained that he'd invented the suit of armor originally to support his failing heart after a deadly injury in Southeast Asia. He'd eventually had his damaged heart replaced as soon as technology had advanced enough to create an artificial one.

The nervous system had been necessary after a jealous girlfriend's bullet had severed his spine.

By the time Stark had finished his story, Data confirmed that his atoms did have a slightly different quantum frequency. Tony Stark, the invincible Iron Man, was from a totally different universe. He'd traveled not just through time, but across dimensions previously unknown.

"Captain, I'd like to suggest that we outfit Mr. Stark here with a change of clothes, assign him temporary quarters, and then do a full debriefing with the command crews of both ships," Riker suggested.

Picard nodded his agreement. "That's a good idea, Number One. I think we're beginning to put the pieces of this puzzle together."

* * *

The command crews from both the Defiant and the Enterprise reconvened in the Executive Briefing Room. Picard introduced Stark and asked the man from the twentieth century to recount his story.

Stark explained who he was and what role he played as an Avenger. He described the battle with the Mandarin and how Dr. Doom's time machine was accidentally activated.

"There's nothing else in the anomaly or in this vicinity," Sisko pointed out. "I for one would like to examine that time machine."

"So would I," Chief O'Brien agreed.

"The time machine cycled twice," Stark explained. "After the first time, I reappeared in a city, in mid-air. The time machine was falling toward some pedestrians and I had to twist it around to miss them. When it cycled a second time, I was upside down and the thrusters of my armor were running. It's possible I was moved away from the machine while still in the timestream."

"If you ended up here, where did the machine end up?" La Forge wondered.

Riker interjected, "Is it possible the time machine is still cycling? Or perhaps it landed somewhere and caused some sort of time paradox. Data, could that cause the temporal anomaly?"

Data considered the Commander's questions. "Possibly," the android said. "Without further data, it is hard to calculate the potential outcomes."

Stark said, "During the fight with the Mandarin, my armor was in what I call 'battle-mode'. It records everything around it and threat assessment subroutines provide me with tactical updates and suggested offensive and defensive options. If I can get the suit working again, it's possible the suit's sensors might have recorded something during both cycles that could help us figure out what happened."

Just then, Picard's communicator chirped. "Picard here," he said.

It was the senior officer from bridge. "You have an urgent message from Starfleet Command, sir."

"Have it relayed here," the captain said.

Picard played the message on the main viewer behind the podium.

It was an automated message from Starfleet Command acknowledging Picard's earlier report. At the end of the message was an attached visual from Admiral Ross.

The Admiral said, "Hello, Jean-Luc. I'm glad it's the Enterprise and the Defiant out there. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's you and Benjamin."

Ross continued, "Whatever you do, figure this out soon. We're beginning to receive reports from all around the Federation. Weird things are happening. It's like time itself is going crazy. Chronometers running backwards, computers malfunctioning, ships disabled, you name it."

"So far, nothing major has occurred. No injuries or fatalities. But eventually, something major will happen. It appears as if that anomaly out there is unraveling the very universe."

"Good luck, Jean-Luc. Starfleet Command out."

A sober Picard turned from watching the message. The two crews and their visitor were likewise solemn.

"Well, it appears things have gone from bad to worse," Picard said. "La Forge, O'Brien, work with Mr. Stark to see if you can get any sensor readings from his armor. Data, contact the Vulcan Science Academy. Give them our findings and see if there's any way to predict the effects of this anomaly."

All three officers nodded and said, "Aye, captain."

* * *

Stark, La Forge, and O'Brien moved the Iron Man armor to a work room near Engineering. They placed the suit on the work table and Stark started the boot-up routine while the two Starfleet engineers monitored the suit with their tricorders.

Stark explained how each tile of the suit was a separate computer unit and how the whole was integrated and coordinated by the master computer unit in the helmet.

Once again, the boot-up process aborted.

The La Forge uploaded his tricorder's recordings into the main Engineering computer and called it up on the work console beside the table. "This suit is pretty sophisticated," he commented. "Hard to believe that you were able to develop anything this advanced four hundred years ago."

"Our universes apparently followed a similar course of history," Stark commented, "But not necessarily the same one. My universe four hundred years ago doesn't necessarily relate directly to what your universe was like four hundred years ago."

"Point taken," Geordi said. "But I still wonder what the divergence point was. What happened in your universe at some point in history that caused your science to advance so much faster than ours?"

Stark shrugged. "Don't know."

"Look," O'Brien said. "It looks like the start-up process if failing right here, when it tries to initialize these timers."

"Of course," Stark exclaimed. "This universe must have a slightly different time flow. The timing circuits in the suit tiles can't initialize properly because here in this universe, they run slightly faster than they would in my universe."

He opened a panel on the wrist pad of the left arm of the suit. Stark adjusted a parameter using the manual override buttons in the pad. "That should do it," he said.

He restarted the suit boot-up process. This time it worked. "I just adjusted the timer variance parameter," he explained to the Starfleet engineers. "Normally, it runs at a very tight tolerance to ensure coordination between the suit components. For now, it will run, but I wouldn't want to wear the suit in a fight. But it'll enable us to download the suit sensor logs."

"What will it take to fix it permanently?" La Forge asked.

"Well, to really fix it, I'd have to redesign each suit tile to work independently of each other. That just wouldn't work. I think I can jury-rig a patch for the suit's operating system to compensate for the timer difference. It might take a couple hours and maybe another hour or so to test."

"But right now, we need to see these logs," O'Brien said.

"Right," Stark agreed. "Let me tell you how the data is formatted."

* * *

It took La Forge, O'Brien, and Stark another three hours to write a translation program to convert the Iron Man sensor log files into a format that the Starfleet computers could understand.

At the end of the process, they were watching a video representation of the battle with Mandarin. There was a secondary window running a parallel data stream of various suit settings and sensor values.

The video showed the scene from Stark's point of view. The three men watched as the Mandarin raised his hand to fire at Iron Man. They watched as Stark's own armored hand came into view and the HUD overlay of the repulsor targeting system appeared on the screen. They saw the suit power levels dip as the repulsor fired. They noted the electrical discharge from Natasha's Widow's Bite hit Mandarin. Some of the Widow's Bite charge was carried back to Iron Man via the conductivity of the plasma created by the repulsor blasting through the air.

They watched in slow motion as the suit absorbed the excess energy and stored it. La Forge once again marveled at the overall sophistication of the suit.

They saw the tactical display showing Mandarin's own blast moving off target and hitting the time machine on which Iron Man had been standing. And they watched as the visual faded as Iron Man was transported through time. La Forge and O'Brien noted that the visual was similar to that of what a person see's when they used the Starfleet transporter. Everything faded to black and then faded back in.

The visual continued. Black sky and stars were visible. The view changed rapidly, as Iron Man and the time machine were tumbling. A view of the ground appeared. Four people were seen standing directly below the spinning time machine. One women, three men. Off to one side, another woman stood. The three men were holding the woman and they all appeared to be arguing. The video replay ended in a flash of light and the suit sensor readouts stopped as the Iron Man suit shutdown.

"What was that flash at the end?" O'Brien wondered.

"I don't know," Stark said. "I don't remember it myself. But the suit caught it, so it must have happened."

"Let's slow the replay down even further," La Forge suggested.

They restarted the playback again, this time during just the last couple seconds. The image of the five people under the time machine froze on the screen.

"You recognize any of these people?" La Forge asked Stark.

"Nope," Tony said. "But this guy is dressed like a superhero." He pointed to the image of the man in the black cape and cowl. "And this woman, here," he pointed to the woman in purple, "Appears to be wearing some sort of costume too. The rest are dressed normally."

"What does this number mean?" O'Brien asked. He was pointing at one of the figures in the suit status window.

"The suit has a beta ray collector," Stark explained. "It's part of the redundant energy system. That's the amount of beta rays per second the collector is absorbing. And the second number is amount of energy it creates."

"But both numbers are zero. And earlier, the first number was running into the millions."

"Then that means there's no beta rays," Stark said.

"But there are always beta rays," La Forge said. "We've got millions of them passing through us right now." He turned on a tricorder and ran a quick scan to confirm that. He was right. He showed the tricorder display to the other two men.

All three men studied the display. "If there are no beta rays at this moment, then that means something was wrong with the beta ray collector," Stark said.

He checked the suit. "But it's working okay right now." A thought struck him. "What if I passed through another universe?" he said. "One where beta rays don't exist?"

"Would that explain this reading?" O'Brien asked.

"Yes," Stark admitted. And it explained why he didn't recognize the costumed man. It was another universe with superheroes, but one different than his own.

They advanced the playback. At the slower speed, they saw the flash of light as it occurred.

The flash came from something in one of the men's hand. La Forge, O'Brien, and Stark studied the display carefully. They advanced the playback as slowly as the limited recording would allow. The power readings went off the scale at the exact fraction of a second the flash occurred.

"Seems obvious to me, there's something else besides the time machine at work here," Stark said.

"I'd have to agree. But what?" O'Brien wondered.

"Maybe we can run this through image enhancement," La Forge suggested. "See what's in this man's hand."

"Maybe. But, look at this," O'Brien said. "This display here shows a huge power spike in the verteron range. No wonder you were thrown through time. And this reading here. Is this an energy reading?" he asked Stark.

"Yes. But it seems to be coming from this man," he pointed to the tall man. "Whoever he is, I don't think he's human. I've never seen a sensor reading like that. The rest of them all read as normal humans."

* * *

The three engineers were in Picard's ready room off the main bridge of the Enterprise. Picard, Data, and Riker were there as well, and Sisko and his bridge crew were patched in via the computer. La Forge, O'Brien, and Stark ran the visual display they'd downloaded from the armor for the rest of the group.

"Have you determined what the object is that the man is holding?" Picard asked the obvious question.

"We think so," La Forge said. "Ran this through some standard image enhancement routines. Cleared the image up a lot." He leaned over Picard's desk and touched the control pad on the computer display. A close up of the man's hand appeared on screen. The video rolled forward in slow motion. "There's one point here," La Forge said as he stopped the display. "We get a pretty good look at the object 0.2835 seconds before the flash. It appears to be some sort of large crystal or gemstone."

"Our hypothesis is that the crystal focused the temporal energy of the time machine, much like dilithium crystals focus the energy in a warp drive reactor," O'Brien explained. "That, combined with the fact that crystal generated verteron particles of its own, created the 'tunneling' effect into this universe. And possibly others."

"And we filtered out most of the visible light from the flash," La Forge said. "Gives us a picture of each of the four people, five including Tony here, vanishing. We think they all traversed to different times and/or universes also. The other woman in the picture appeared to be out of the range of the effect. We can only surmise that she's still in her home universe."

La Forge touched the control again. All four of the people in the picture seemed to fade and recede from view. Picard thought the effect looked a little bit like the Kolvoord Starburst he'd seen cadets perform at the Starfleet Academy. In the extremely risky Kolvoord Starburst maneuver, five ships would fly in unison to a point and then pull away, each in a different direction. The exhaust from their ships would be ignited and the entire exhaust trail would light up, creating a spectacular visual effect.

"So we have five displaced persons instead of merely one," Picard said. "Four from this universe," he pointed at the computer display, "and one from Stark's."

"And according to T'Pal of the Temporal Research department of the Vulcan Science Academy, the only way to correct the anomaly is to return all of the parties to their points of origin," Data said. "Each person must be returned to their native universe at the exact moment they left. Otherwise, the stress on the multiple universes, the 'multiverse' if you will, will cause all of existence to collapse."

"So how do we go about finding these other four people?" Sisko asked over the communications link.

"I do not know, Captain Sisko," Data said. "But it is imperative that we find a way."

* * *

### New York City

The next morning, three people walked down the street several blocks from Sotheby's. One was a man, wearing a trench coat and a hat. His name was John Jones, and he was a private detective. Well, a sometimes private detective. He spent most of this time as Jon Jonzz, the Martian Manhunter, but occasionally used his shape-shifting power to transform into various aliases, as he'd done today.

The other man was a tall black man, with a small, clean cropped goatee, and wire-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a dark business suit. He was Dr. John Henry Irons, formerly a weapons designer for the United States military, and currently the Justice League's technology expert. When he put on a suit of high-tech armor, he became the superhero known as Steel.

The last person was a tall woman with thick black hair. She was wearing a conservative suit. She was Diana of Themyscira otherwise known as Wonder Woman.

The trio had decided to come here to investigate the incident themselves. Both Jon and Diana knew Superman's secret identity and when they had seen the news report mention Lois Lane was an eyewitness, they realized Clark couldn't have been far away. And when they'd heard from Oracle that Batman was missing also, they knew something was wrong.

John looked around the area. "There," he said, motioning to a vagrant laying in the alleyway. He concentrated.

"Anything?" Diana asked.

"Yes," Jon said. "It's muddled by the alcohol, but he definitely saw something."

Jon Jonzz was a Martian. Not only was he a shape-shifter, but he was also a telepath. He'd scanned the vagrant's thoughts. By chance, they'd stumbled upon one of the people that had witnessed the explosion.

Dr. Irons pulled a small device out of his trench coat pocket. It looked like a television remote control, but was obviously something else.

"And what does it do?" Diana asked as she looked around. A young man in a NY Mets tee-shirt, leather jacket, and baseball cap was eying them. Diana was getting uncomfortable. She didn't understand how Batman could do this sort of "undercover" work. She was a warrior and preferred to plow right into a fight.

"It tells us that lots of exotic energies were released here," John said. "Not much else. Maybe Kyle can figure something out with his ring. I think we've reached the limits of Earthly science."

"We need to find Ms Lane," Diana said. "She might be able to tell us what happened."

The young man approached the two. He wore the baseball cap backwards as was the fashion these days and had a goatee. He smiled. "You guys stand out like a bunch of sore thumbs."

"Who?" Diana started to ask. But Jon telepathically gave her the answer. The young man was Nightwing, Batman's partner. "Oh," she said.

"Perhaps we should go somewhere and compare notes," the young man suggested.

The group walked down the street for a block and found a small diner. The three men and one woman sat at a both in the back where they could talk unheard by the rest of the patrons.

"So, what did you guys figure out?" the disguised Nightwing asked them.

Dr. Irons said, "There was not an explosion. It was more like an implosion. That's why there's no damage in the area. Whatever happened, it caused a big pop from the air rushing into a vacuum, not the other way around. Other than that, I can't figure it out."

"How about you?" Jon Jonzz asked.

"Asked around. Not many people saw it and those that did told everything to the cops. Only person I haven't found, yet, is Lois Lane. She should be a pretty observant person, being a report and all. How many Pulitzers does she have?"

"Yes, we'd like to talk with her as well."

"So, you figure Superman was mixed up in something? And Lane was covering the story?" Nightwing asked.

Diana thought about how to answer that question. She wasn't sure Batman had shared his personal knowledge of Superman's ID with Nightwing. And not knowing that, she didn't want to inadvertently gave anything away. She'd always been open about her identify, but then her family was all isolated on Themyscira and in little danger. But perhaps there was some benefit to keeping a secret identity actually secret; some of her friends had been threatened and harmed for having known her.

"Probably," Diana said. "We'll know more when we talk to Miss Lane."

"So, is that our next objective?" Jon Jonzz asked.

"Until Green Lantern returns to Earth, it seems as though we've exhausted just about every other option," Dr. Irons said.

The group heard a quiet buzzing. Nightwing leaned back and dug a cell phone out of his pants pocket.

"Hello," he said into the device. A pause. "Yeah, I'm there now. And I ran into three of your other friends." Another pause. "The brainy one, the green one, and the babe."

Nightwing stopped talking for a moment and handed the cell phone to Diana. "It's for you," he said, with a grin on his face.

Diana took the tiny cell phone with a bit of apprehension. "Hello," she said into the device.

"Wonder Woman, this is Oracle. I see you've run into my other operative," the voice on the phone said.

"Yes, I guess we have," Diana said.

"Lois Lane just contacted me. I don't know how she knew to contact me, I guess Superman must have told her in case of some sort of emergency," Oracle said.

"Where is she?"

"She's in a hotel near your current location. The Four Seasons, suite 2256."

* * *

The four arrived at the hotel after a short walk. Diana knocked on the door. The door opened after a moment.

Lois Lane-Kent stepped back and motioned for the group to enter. "Hello, Diana," she said. "I wasn't expecting a convention."

Nightwing and the other two men detected the cattiness between the two women, but didn't have any idea what was causing it.

"Hello, Lois," Diana said. "We were in the neighborhood."

"Hello, Dr. Irons," Lois said. "And you're Jon Jonzz, right?"

The disguised Martian nodded.

"But I don't know you."

"I usually hid this ugly mug behind a mask," Nightwing said, "Instead of a scratchy glue-on disguise." He tugged at the goatee, but didn't remove it. "I honestly don't know how Batman does it."

"Ah, you must be Nightwing," Lois said.

"Bright lady," Nightwing retorted.

Lois walked into the living room area of the suite. They all sat down. "What happened, Lois," Diana asked.

Lois looked at the others. Diana knew all of her secrets, but she still wasn't sure how much Clark had shared with the rest of his JLA team. And Nightwing wasn't in the JLA. But Clark was missing. As was Batman and the others. But for a quirk of fate, Catwoman trying to make a break for it, she herself might very well be gone as well. She decided that getting her husband back, again, was the paramount goal here.

"We were coming back to the hotel from a late dinner. After a play," Lois explained.

Nightwing sat quietly and listened to the woman talk. It was obvious by her reluctance, that it was difficult to talk. Was she having an affair with Superman? She'd only married Clark Kent about a year ago, he thought. Or was she trying to keep something else secret? he wondered.

"We'd stopped on the street for a moment. And then Catwoman came running down the alley. Superman stopped her. And then Batman and Bond came running down the alley."

"Bond?" Dr. Irons asked.

"James Bond. He's a British secret agent."

"What would the British have a secret agent here for?" Jon Jonzz wondered.

"I think he was guarding the gemstone," Lois said. "Although he's a very high priced babysitter if you ask me."

"Catwoman got the gemstone?" Diana asked.

"Yeah, she had it, but she dropped it when Cl...uh, Superman grabbed her."

"I don't remember Superman being mentioned in the news reports," Dr. Irons said.

"Uh, he wasn't in costume," Lois said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

Diana came to her rescue. "He was undercover, like we are now," the Amazon princess said.

"Uh, yeah," Lois agreed. The two women exchanged a look that went unnoticed by the men. A look that said something like, why is she helping out--maybe she not so bad after all.

He still wasn't sure he believed it, but he accepted it for now. He knew Superman had assisted Batman several times in undercover situations, so it wasn't beyond belief. This whole situation was beginning to solidify an idea that Nightwing had been playing with for a while. He didn't have any conclusive proof, no "smoking gun" evidence anyway, nothing like an eyewitness or a photo, but he'd suspected that Clark Kent was actually Superman. This would explain why Lois Lane was in New York having a late dinner with Superman.

Nightwing nodded his agreement with the women's explanation. He was more than content to let Lois tell him her secrets if she wanted. He wouldn't let on that he already knew.

"So Catwoman stole the gem, Batman and this British agent were on her trail, and she ran into Superman and you. She gets caught, end of story," Dr. Irons said. "What happened."

"She made a break for it," Lois said. "She only got about ten yards or so. The three men almost tackled her. But then there was this really loud noise and they were all gone in a flash. If I'd chased after her also, I'd probably be gone too." She was close to tears. "I can't lose him again."

"Lois," Jon Jonzz said. "I understand this is difficult for you. Do you remember anything else? What caused the noise, anything?"

Lois shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

"You might have seen something, but don't recognize that you did," Jon said. "If you'll allow me, I can probe your mind. I wouldn't ask, except in these dire circumstances."

She thought about it for a few moments, but Lois eventually, reluctantly, nodded.

"Just clear your mind and take a couple deep breaths," Jon told her.

She did as he asked, or tried to. The deep breaths were easy, but she wasn't sure how clear she could make her mind. There were so many thoughts.

The group sat still for a moment. Jon closed his eyes and concentrated.

The Martian Manhunter slowly and carefully probed into the mind of Lois Lane-Kent. Her love and concern for her husband was clearly evident. These feelings were foremost in her mind. Using the mental disciplines developed by his people eons before humans developed on the plains of Africa, Jon slid beyond the surface thoughts of the woman's mind and deeper into her memories.

Due to her concerns for Clark, Lois' mind was chaotic. Usually, she prided herself on being clear minded and focused. It was what made her the reporter that she was. It took Jon a few minutes to sort through her memories and find the ones from the previous night. And being fresh memories, they hadn't been sorted and shuffled and stored as the human mind, by nature and evolution, was wont to do. Thus they were harder for the telepath to find and arrange.

Jon finally found them, sorted them into the order they actually occurred, and saw things that Lois had seen. Some were seen so briefly, they'd impressed on her memories, but couldn't be consciously remembered. Like the cause of the shrill sound.

He broke the mental link. Lois was surprised that she was calm and refreshed. For some reason, she'd always assumed a mental probe was something akin to an assault, but it hadn't been. Jon's intrusion into her mind had been just the opposite.

"Well?" Dr. Irons said. "Did you answer any of our questions, Jon?"

"Yes, I think so," the Martian Manhunter said. His attention had been focused on the mind probe and thus he'd reverted to his natural form. The green skinned alien sitting in the chair opposite Lois concentrated for a moment and the fedora wearing private detective John Jones reappeared.

"I know what caused the loud noise that was reported. Lois saw it, but it was too brief to have done more than barely register on her conscious mind."

"What was it?" Diana asked. "Was it Prometheus or Darkseid striking at our numbers again?"

"No," Jon said. "A man-shape in gold and red somehow appeared and the machine he was with fell toward our friends. At the split second before the impact, they all disappeared in a flash of light."

There was a small tapping at the window. The group turned from Jon's description of the events from the previous night.

Lois got up and opened the curtains leading to the balcony. A young girl, bearing an adolescent by the looks of her, was standing on the balcony. She wore a blue dress and on her chest was Superman's "S" emblem. Lois slid the door open. "Who?"

"I'm Supergirl," the young blonde girl announced. "I understand my cousin Superman is in trouble. I'm here to help."

The assembled group was stunned into silence. They all knew Supergirl, and she wasn't a child. And she wasn't Superman's cousin. Clark was the last and only survivor of the planet Krypton.

The superheroine known as "Supergirl" was actually an artificial lifeform from a mirror universe. She'd merged with a Earth woman, Linda Danvers, and operated out of Leesburg, Virginia. Prior to her merger with Danvers, Supergirl had been a shape-shifter, similar to Jon Jonzz. She had been able to transform into a number of different forms, but now she could only change between Linda and Supergirl.

"You're Superman's cousin?" Dr. Irons asked.

"Yes," the girl said.

"Uh, how come we've never seen you before?" Diana said.

"I'm supposed to be his secret weapon. Kal-El doesn't think I'm ready for the world to know about me yet. I'm still in training. But when I learned he was missing, I figured it was my duty to come here and help out."

"How did you learn Clar...uh, Kal-El was missing?" Lois asked.

Supergirl looked in astonishment at Lois. "You know Superman's real identity? I didn't think he'd told anyone, Miss Lane."

As the newcomer and Lois were talking, Diana felt Jon tickling her mind. Yes, Jon, she thought.

I've scanned her with my Martian vision. She's a Kryptonian. The "real deal" as Flash would say. Something isn't right here.

Lois about lost it. "Of course I know his real identity, you little imposter, I'M MARRIED TO HIM!" She stood facing the blonde child, quivering in anger and frustration and pain.

Well, there's my independent verification, thought Nightwing.

"Lois, calm down," Diana tried to soothe the other woman. She placed her hand on Lois' shoulder.

Lois pulled away from Diana's touch. "I don't want to calm down. All I *want* is to find my husband."

* * *


	14. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 14

### USS Enterprise, in the Beta Quadrant

The command crews of the two ships once again met in the Executive Meeting Room. They were joined by Tony Stark, the man they'd rescued from the temporal anomaly.

Captain Picard stood at the front of the small auditorium. "The latest communication from Starfleet Command indicates that more temporal disruptions have been reported from all over the galaxy. Reports of problems have been received from nearly every major planet and outpost in the Federation. Starfleet Intelligence reports that similar incidents are occurring in the Dominion, the Romulan Empire, and the Tholian sector. Long range scans indicate that even the Borg areas of the Gamma Quadrant appear to be having disruptions."

"That's not encouraging," Sisko said. "I would have hoped that pulling Mr. Stark out of the anomaly here would have slowed things down."

Data spoke up, "Actually, Captain Sisko, we believe that action did slow down the occurrences."

Riker was astonished, "Data, you mean things could be worse?"

"Yes, Commander," Data confirmed.

Picard took control of the conversation amongst the two crews, "The important matter before us now is how can we track down the other four displaced individuals. Anyone have ideas?"

La Forge was the first to speak up. "Captain," he said, "We've reviewed the information from Stark's armor sensors." By "we" he meant Data, Chief O'Brien, Stark, and himself. "Using the information we've gathered in the past during other alternative universe encounters, we believe we have developed a way to retrieve the other people. Chief O'Brien figured out a way to reprogram the DS9 transporters to cross to the Mirror Universe. We think we can alter this mechanism to cross into *any* universe."

The chief engineer of the Enterprise went on to describe a system using their sensors and transporters. Using the quantum frequency traces they'd extrapolated from Stark's armor sensors, they had developed a "road-map" of each individual's path through time and interdimensional space. It helped that the four had a common starting position.

To test the theory, they'd back-traced Stark's own path. The theory seemed to hold; Stark's path from his own universe, into the second universe, and into the Enterprise's universe all conformed to the theory.

"But," La Forge explained, "It's not a precise measurement."

"How so?" Captain Picard asked.

La Forge tried to explain, "Impressive as it is, Mr. Stark's armor wasn't designed to track temporal displacements or multi-dimensional transports. We had to extrapolate the vector paths from the available data. There is a factor of uncertainty in our calculations."

"The further the individuals get from their origin point, the less certain we are exactly where they are. Each vector path is only a best guess effort as to where they are. We may have to try several times before we find anyone. Maybe more than several."

It was obvious that La Forge was frustrated by the limitations placed before them. And, he was trying to explain a topic that only a handful of scientists in the entire Federation even claims to understand. And explain it in a way everyone could understand.

"Well, the analogy is this," La Forge said. "Let's use Commander Riker for example. I pass him in the corridor, so I know which corridor he's traveled down. But the further away he gets from me, the less likely I'm able to predict or know which cabin he goes into."

"Hopefully, we'll get better at it as we gain some experience," Sisko said.

"Jean-Luc?" It was Dr. Crusher.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Perhaps the Traveler could help," the doctor suggested.

The doctor was talking about the enigmatic alien they'd met early in their missions with the Enterprise-D. A resident of Tau Alpha C, the Traveler had the ability to travel unimaginable distances using thoughts alone. Dr. Crusher and the rest of the Enterprise crew hadn't seen the Traveler since he'd appeared on Dorvan Five and offered to teach Wesley Crusher in the use of the young Crusher's emerging powers.

Picard nodded. "We don't have time to find him," the Captain reminded this chief medical officer. "Even if we had any idea of where to start looking."

Dr. Crusher reluctantly nodded.

Picard addressed his chief engineer, "Geordi, let's proceed with your plan. Everyone on both ships is at your disposal." He looked at Captain Sisko. Sisko nodded his agreement.

"Aye, Captain."

"How long before we're ready to begin?" Picard asked.

"We'll need to do some tests on the transporter targeting scanners. Wouldn't do to have us beaming into another universe only to materialize inside a wall or the ground or ..." La Forge trailed off.

Everyone understood the danger.

* * *

A couple hours later, Data reported to Captains Picard and Sisko that the test canisters had worked as expected. La Forge and O'Brien had been able to beam a transporter test canister with a tricorder attached to it into at least three different universes and retrieve it safely.

The test canisters were precisely manufactured cylinders of a special metal that was extremely sensitive to transporter malfunctions. The slightest misalignment in the transporter mechanism would cause the canister to crumble. They were used routinely to test the transporter after major and even minor repairs.

The engineers had attached a specially programmed tricorder to the canister. The tricorder recorded the quantum frequency of each universe the canister went into. It also provided a visual record to confirm where the canister appeared. The visual record from one of the transports had shown what appeared to be a person examining the canister, but the other two universes had yielded no apparent witnesses to their activities.

The transporter had an extremely sophisticated scanner system designed to pinpoint the beam down and rematerialization. This prevented the person or object being transported from materializing inside a ship's bulkhead, or under a planet's ground surface, or too far in the air, or even in the vacuum of outer space. Multiple fail-safes allowed the transporter system to override an operator's instructions if the beam down location wasn't safe.

To get the system to work across the dimensional boundaries, La Forge, O'Brien, and Data had to override the fail-safes and manually perform the scanning step. Before they risked any people on the system, they wanted to confirm that it worked.

* * *

### A radio station in Seattle

"Five seconds, Dr. Crane," Roz Doyle said.

"Thank you, Roz," Dr. Frasier Crane acknowledged his producer. He watched through the glass that separated his radio studio from the engineer booth where Roz sat. Like him, she wore a headset over her ears. She counted down with her fingers.

Five, four, three, two, one, Roz pointed at Dr. Crane.

"Good morning, Seattle," Dr. Crane said smoothly into the mike in front of him. "This is Doctor Frasier Crane. I'm listening."

"Dr. Crane," Roz said, "Our first call today is from Sarah."

"Hello, Sarah, I'm listening," Dr. Crane said.

"Hello, hello," the caller said. "Am I on the air?"

"Yes, Sarah, you are. How can I help you," Dr. Crane tried to remain calm. Sometimes, callers could be so stupid.

"Dr. Crane, I think I'm going crazy."

"Why do you say that, Sarah?"

"I'm seeing things."

"What sort of things?"

"I saw this strange metal robot. It was about three feet tall and had a blinking red eye on the top."

Frasier rolled his eyes. Great, he thought, and this is just the first call. Only another 55 minutes of this. He kept his voice smooth and calm. "Where did you see this 'robot'?"

"I was driving to work. It just sort of appeared on the side of the highway."

"Sarah, are you sure it wasn't some sort of road repair equipment? There is a lot of construction out there," Dr. Crane suggested.

"No. That wasn't it," the caller was getting agitated. "I know what I saw. I stopped and looked at it closely." The caller's voice lowered, "And it disappeared right in front of me."

"It disappeared?"

"Yes, it just sort of dissolved right in front of my eyes."

"I'm sure it did, Sarah. And that reminds me," Dr. Crane said, "It's time for a word from our sponsor. Do you have water spots in your dishwasher? Dissolve them right away with Crystal Clear Duz detergent."

Roz cued Frasier that the commercial was playing and his mike was no longer active.

"Tell me, Roz, is there a full moon today? Because it sounds like the nuts are out today."

"I wouldn't know, Frasier. You're back on in 15 seconds."

* * *

Riker approached Captain Picard. "I'd like to suggest Data and myself for the first mission," the first officer said.

"No, Number One."

"Who do you suggest, Captain?"

"I'm going myself," Picard said.

"With all due respect, Captain, but I can't allow that. You know Starfleet regulations prohibit the commanding officer of ..."

Picard interrupted his first officer, his friend, with a wave of his hand. "Will, the fate of the entire universe rests on this mission. Plus, we're not even sure this is going to work. Given the circumstances, I can't send subordinates off to God only knows where. This is one time the regulations be damned."

Riker nodded. He understood the Captain's reaction. In Picard's position, Riker probably would have felt the same way.

"Besides, Number One, Data has to stay here. He's the only one that understands all this temporal and multi-universe stuff. Geordi, and O'Brien, and even Stark understand bits and pieces of it, but only Data understands the whole thing. Him and a few Vulcan scientists back at the Vulcan Science Academy."

"Understood, Captain. In that case, I'd like to volunteer to accompany you."

"Who'll run the ship if we don't come back?" Picard asked.

"Captain Sisko seems more than capable, sir. And Data and Commander La Forge are both excellent officers."

Picard turned to his first officer and offered his hand. The two men shook. "Welcome to the mission, Number One," Picard said. "Let's get ready."

* * *

### The Beta Quadrant

As the transporter beam faded away, Picard and Riker found themselves in a rocky area. They materialized on a shallow area, a small canyon actually, between two cliffs of red rocks. At first glance, Picard thought he was back on Veridian III. Riker immediately had the reconfigured tricorder out and began scanning.

"This is definitely a different universe," the first officer of the Enterprise said. "Quantum frequencies of quarks, bosons, and leptons is about three percent higher than our norm. Just as Data predicted."

The rocks had a red and orange tint to them, similar to the Sedona region in Earth's North American state of Arizona or the Cydonia area of Mars. It also looked and felt a lot like most of Vulcan. There was evidence of wind and water erosion in the rocks, with layers upon layers of sediment showing in the rock strata.

"Looks a bit barren," Picard said. "Warm too." He ran his hand over his bald forehead.

"Shouldn't be here long," Riker said. "This reconfigured tricorder is scanning just fine. I'll have all the readings I need in just another minute or so."

"Anything?"

"Nothing so far," Riker responded.

Ever the explorer, Picard said, "Let's look around a bit. Not everyday we get to be the first men to explore an entirely new universe."

The captain headed off down the canyon.

"Is it wise to venture far from our beam down coordinates?" Riker questioned.

"If these red rocks mean the same thing they do in our universe, there's a lot of iron oxide in this canyon," Picard explained. "It could interfere with the tricorder readings. I think we should get out of this canyon and onto higher ground if nothing else."

Riker nodded. "I'm reading nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing here with a quantum frequency not native to this universe is us."

Picard surveyed his surroundings again. He pointed to a gentle slope up the canyon wall. "Let's try climbing up there," he suggested. "We'll take one more reading from the higher ground and then we can signal for beam up."

The two men took the climb slowly due to the heat. After a couple minutes, they crested the ridge above the small canyon. From this vantage point, they could see the surrounding area for kilometers. The area on the other side of the canyon was barren, but the area on their side of the canyon sloped smoothly down into a lush valley.

Although Riker's tricorder hadn't found anything that suggested a need to explore the area, the two men walked a little further down the slope. The first purpose of Starfleet was to explore, so explore they did. The two took careful note of the types of trees and plants they saw as they walked down off the rocky ridge. The majority of the plants looked to be a type of fern, Picard thought, similar to that of Earth's Mesozoic era.

They hadn't walked for more than ten minutes and were still within site of the ridge above the canyon where they'd arrived when they heard the sound of voices. Cautious, they both pulled out their tricorders and rescanned the area. The reprogrammed tricorders had defaulted to scanning for the overall quantum frequency of the area, but they both switched to life signs scanning.

Picard motioned silently to Riker. Riker nodded in agreement; they both had determined that the sound was coming from a clearing on the other side of a grove of the fern-like trees.

They carefully crept forward to get a visual record.

What they saw was a bunch of apparent humans. The group only numbered four adults and two children, on a picnic in the clearing. The two adult males were lounging in hammocks while the two women prepared the meal. The children played with a dog-like creature. All were dressed in animal skins and were apparently this universe's equivalent of prehistoric hominids.

The universal translator either couldn't make out what the proto-humans were saying, or Riker and Picard weren't close enough for the device to capture the sounds.

Picard held up his hand and motioned for them to not go any further. They both continued their tricorder scan. Enough information would be gathered from the passive monitoring of the hominid group without initiating a "first contact."

Riker and Picard watched as the little girl and the little boy tossed what appeared to be a bone back and forth. The proto-dog ran back and forth between the children, trying to get the bone. The girl was dressed in a brown animal skin and her red hair was gathered together at the top of her head with what appeared to be another bone. The little boy was blond and, judging from how far he could throw, was quite strong for his age.

The two women were likewise in animal skins. The taller of the two, also a redhead, was wearing an off-white skin and had a crude necklace of pearls tied around her neck. The other was much shorter and had black hair. The two women took turns cranking a large spit of meat over an open fire.

From their position, Riker and Picard couldn't see the two men very well, but the dark haired one appeared to be wearing a tiger skin and was much larger than his companion. The short blond man was wearing a brown-colored animal skin that matched that of the young boy.

After a few minutes of recording the idyllic scene with their tricorders, Picard reluctantly decided to leave. They still didn't know how predictably their search would progress. What they were searching for was not here.

Although the anthropological opportunities were ample here in this universe of early hominids, Picard's first duty was to the safety of the Federation and of his own universe. And if Data was right, all the universes could eventually collapse if the anomaly wasn't repaired.

The two officers eased back away from the clearing, trying to make no noise that would attract their unsuspecting subjects. They then walked back to the small canyon and activated the recall device that La Forge and O'Brien had designed.

Picard and Riker waiting patiently. Nothing happened for several long seconds. Picard was just about to consider the possibility that they were stranded in this strange new universe when he finally felt the tingle at the base of his skull that told him the transporter beam had locked on to them. Another few seconds and he was back aboard the Enterprise.

* * *

Fred Flintstone laid back in his hammock and smiled. It was Sunday and he and his best friend in the entire whole world, Barney Rubble, were off work. They'd brought their families to this isolated little spot for a relaxing picnic.

Pebbles and Bam-Bam were playing fetch with Dino. Wilma and Betty, Fred and Barney's wives, were fixing a roast of bronto.

"Doesn't get much better than this, does it Barn?" Fred asked.

"I agree, Fred, old buddy," Barney said. "It doesn't get any better!"

* * *

What neither Fred nor Barney saw, beyond the fern trees, was a ominous cloud on the far horizon. Through the cloud, a sparkling space-age city shimmered into existence for a moment. And then, as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared.

The temporal anomaly went unnoticed by the citizens of Bedrock.

* * *

Picard and Riker stepped down off the transporter pad. Data, La Forge, O'Brien, and Stark were waiting for them in the transporter room. Just as they appeared on the transporter pad, Dr. Crusher had walked in.

"Nothing to report," Picard told the group. He handed his tricorder to La Forge for the engineer to download the data they'd collected.

"Right," Riker confirmed. "Definitely a different universe, but no sign of anything or anyone out of the ordinary."

Picard turned to Dr. Crusher. The doctor was scanning the two officers. "Doctor?"

"Just routine, Jean-Luc," Crusher explained.

"Doctor. Beverly. The transporter deals with any potentially dangerous pathogens. This is not 'just routine'."

Crusher sighed. "I have a hunch. That's all."

"A hunch about what?" Riker said. As first officer, the safety of the ship and it's crew was paramount. "Is there a risk to the ship?"

"No," Crusher explained. "But possibly to you."

"Explain, Doctor," Picard commanded.

The doctor closed her tricorder and stuffed it in her medical jacket. She paced for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "I've been monitoring Mr. Stark," she said. That was a routine responsibility, particularly considering his travel through time. It was Starfleet standard operating procedure to monitor any individuals that came forward through time. It was possible that they might bring extinct viruses or bacteria with them. The transporter only filtered out what it was programmed for.

"He's doing just fine. No strange viruses or anything," the doctor explained. "But I've noticed some changes at the sub-atomic level. He's breathing, and eating and drinking, molecules from our universe. There's some small amounts of cellular degradation because of the interaction of our universe's atoms interacting with his atoms. Nothing major, but notable."

"And your scan of us?" Picard asked.

"Well, you weren't in the other universe very long, but you did breath that universe's air while you were there."

"Yes," Picard prompted.

"So there's some small amounts of the same cellular degradation in both you and Commander Riker," Crusher explained. "It's barely above the normal levels of cellular degradation. But if you make multiple transports into multiple universes, I'm afraid the degradation could reach levels where it would be detrimental, possibly even lethal."

"I see," Picard said. "Recommendations?"

"It's just a theory at this point, Jean-Luc," Dr. Crusher said. "I need to continue monitoring you after each transport."

"Perhaps we just need to rotate the command crews," Riker suggested. "Instead of doing each transport ourselves."

Picard nodded. It was the sensible thing to do, he thought.

"Uh, Doctor?" It was Stark.

"Yes, Mr. Stark?"

"This cellular deterioration? What are the long-term effects?" Stark was concerned. He'd already battled one case of cellular deterioration caused by his armor, he didn't necessarily want to go through all that again.

"I don't believe so," Crusher said. "Perhaps Data or the Vulcans have some different ideas, but I think if you stay in any given universe long enough, all of your atoms will eventually be replaced by atoms from that universe. The cellular degradation occurs only when the quantum frequency of your atoms conflicts with the frequency of the atoms you're ingesting."

"So, if we get stranded in another universe, we should be okay?" Riker asked.

"Well, yes, I guess," Crusher said. "But there'll be other factors. You might land somewhere where the food would be poison to you, or the water like acid."

"Understood," Picard said. "We need to develop a rotation schedule so that everyone limits their exposure to this cellular degradation. We'll start with the command crews from both ships and extend that as necessary." He turned to Riker, "Will, set up the schedules. Let me know when they're ready so we can resume the search."

"Aye, Captain."

* * *

It took Riker only a few minutes to coordinate with Dr. Crusher and Data. They came up with a rotation schedule using the command crews of the Enterprise and the Defiant. Although they were loath to do so, they put Data into the rotation. Data argued that he was not as indispensable as Picard had suggested. The Vulcan scientists were available via sub-space communications and could provide as much, if not more, information about multiple universes and quantum frequency differences than he could.

Data also suggested that because he was an android and didn't need to eat, or even breath for that matter, he should be the most resistant to the deterioration.

La Forge entered the conversation and voiced a concern that Data's positronic brain might actually be more sensitive to the quantum differences between universes.

Several minutes of discussions between Data and La Forge failed to resolve the potential conflicts. They could only send Data on a mission and find out.

Riker tapped his communicator. "Riker to Picard."

"Yes, Number One?"

"We're ready. We have a rotation schedule and we're ready to resume the search."

"Notify the crews to their schedule and begin as soon as possible. Starfleet Command has indicated that the temporal problems are worsening."

"Understood, sir."

"Commander?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark?"

"I've made the necessary adjustments to my armor. It will be functional in any universe we're likely to visit. I'd like to be included in the rotation schedule."

"I don't know if that would be wise, Mr. Stark," Riker said.

"Please, call me Tony," Stark said. "If the sensor readings from my armor are correct, several of the people you're looking for are what we call 'superheros'. It might make things easier if they see one of their own."

"You?"

Stark nodded. "And if your search takes too long, you'll have run out of people to send. Putting me into the rotation will give you additional attempts."

"I'll consider it," Riker said.

"Not to mention that it was my little trip on the time machine that started this. I'm the one responsible. I should have a hand in fixing it."

"Very well, Mr. Stark, Tony," Riker said. "I guess you're as involved with this as anyone is. I'll add you to the schedule."

* * *

Counselor Deanna Troi and Doctor Julian Bashir stood on the transporter platform. They were both a little uncomfortable about actually transporting into another universe--Julian had been in the mirror universe, but Deanna had never done something like this.

"It's real easy, Deanna, Doctor," Riker said. The first officer of the Enterprise was briefing them prior to their away mission. "The tricorders have been reprogrammed. Just press program 'alpha' and it'll do all the rest. If there's a quantum signature that's not native to that universe, it'll move into the standard lifeform scan and search program. This will allow you to find the person you're looking for. If the recall device fails for any reason, program 'beta' on both tricorders will initiate the recall. Understood?"

"Yes, Commander," Bashir said. He double-checked his tricorder and then tucked it into a holster.

"Yes, Will," Deanna said. "What was it like? Beaming into another universe."

Riker shrugged. "For the Captain and I, it was just like beaming down to any planet. The transport itself seemed to take a little longer, but it felt just like any other transport."

This seemed to put Deanna at ease. She looked at Chief O'Brien, standing behind the transporter control console. "Ready when you are, Chief."

"Right, Counselor," O'Brien said. "Good luck, Deanna. Good luck, Julian. You come back, now. I still have to beat you at darts...at least once."

"We'll be back," Bashir promised. "Energize."

"Energizing," O'Brien said and ran his hand across the control.

The two on the transporter pad dematerialized.

And rematerialized a moment later at the back of a large room. The room was full of people, some in chairs, some sitting at tables. Fortunately, all the people were facing the other direction and didn't see Troi and Bashir appear out of nowhere.

"Where are we?" Deanna asked, her voice a whisper.

"I'm not sure. This looks like a twentieth century 'television' studio." It helped that Bashir was an aficionado of twentieth century history. He took out his tricorder and began scanning.

Deanna watched the man at the front of the room. He had dark hair and was extremely energetic. The large metal boxes on wheels must be the cameras, Deanna thought. She'd read about 'television', but had never seen anything like this, not even in a museum. But she did recognize a kitchen. It was some sort of cooking show. As Bashir scanned for the quantum frequency of the person they were seeking, she watched the show.

"And that's how you kick it up a notch," the man at the front of the studio said. "Stay tuned. Go get one of those frozen things, you know what I'm talking about. And come back in a minute and we'll be making a chocolate truffle soufflé with dark chocolate ganache." As the man talked, his voice got louder and louder. The crowd was getting excited and began clapping and yelling. "Right here on Emeril Live!"

"That's it," Deanna said, snapping her fingers. She wasn't too concerned about whispering; the crowd was making more than enough noise to cover her conversation with Bashir. "I thought he looked familiar."

"Who?" Bashir asked. "Him?" He nodded toward the front of the studio.

"Yes," Deanna said. "That's Emeril Lagasse. He's a famous chef from the early twenty-first century. My father had an antique cookbook of his." If fact, the cookbook was one of Deanna's most priced possessions. It was in a vault on Betazed, in the care of her mother. It was one of the few things Deanna had of her deceased father's and she held it most dear.

"The scan's almost done," Bashir said.

"Too bad, I could stay here awhile."

"The chocolate soufflé?" Bashir asked. He'd heard Chief O'Brien's stories about Counselor Troi's weakness for chocolate.

The Counselor nodded. "If the recall device fails, I'm okay to stay here, you know."

Bashir assumed she was kidding. There was too much at stake for either of them to indulge themselves. Bashir himself would have loved to have walked out of the studio and just stroll around the city. It didn't matter which city; any city would have been fine. It was the late twentieth or early twenty-first century. Think of all the things he could see!

"Scan's done. There's nothing here."

Troi sighed almost loud enough for the people in the audience directly in front of her to hear. "Time to go home, right?"

"Right," Bashir said.

"Now this soufflé is a favorite of mine," Emeril was saying in front of the studio. "And it's a favorite at my restaurants as well."

Deanna reluctantly pressed the button on the recall device. Her eyes were moist as she dematerialized. Emeril disappeared from her sight and she thought fondly of her late father as the darkness of the transporter took her away.

"Counselor, are you okay?" O'Brien asked as she and Bashir reappeared in the Enterprise transporter room. "Did everything go okay?"

"Everything's fine, Chief," Troi said with melancholy in her voice. She stepped down from the pad and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Bashir was already scanning himself for the cellular deterioration. "I'll be in Ten-Forward, Doctor," she said.

"I'll be along with you in a moment," Bashir said. "I'll buy you dessert," he said, a knowing smile on his face.

"Thanks, Julian," Deanna said and walked out the transporter room.

* * *

Captain Benjamin Sisko and his first officer, Colonel Kira Nerys of the Bajoran Militia materialized in the shadow of a huge building. They hung back in the shadow for a moment to get their bearings.

Several people in robes walked by, but didn't really notice them.

"That sounds like Latin," Sisko said, referring to the speech of the people.

"The universal translator seems to understand it," Kira said. "They said something about 'the games'."

"Yeah, that's what I made it out as also." Sisko looked around. "This looks familiar," he said.

"You've been here?"

"No, but I've seen it in the history records. I think this is the Colosseum. This must be ancient Rome," Sisko said. "Anything on the tricorder?"

Kira took out her tricorder and began scanning. "Nothing yet." A small group of men walked by. This time the passersby took notice. One of the men commented to the rest and gestured in Kira's direction. The universal translator built into Kira's communicator translated the comment as a crude remark about the tightness of her jumpsuit and her suitability as a sexual partner.

"Well, we can't just stand here," Sisko said, upset with the comment.

"And exactly where will we go?" Kira asked, incised.

"Why, to the games, of course."

Kira gave Sisko a glance. "Are you crazy?" she asked.

"Come on now, Picard would never forgive me if I didn't bring him back some tricorder recordings of ancient Rome at its height." Sisko looked around and saw a small shop down a dark alley. He motioned for Kira to follow.

She did so, still mad and still scanning with the tricorder.

There were no locks on the door and the shop appeared deserted. "Closed for the games, no doubt," Sisko said. He looked around and quickly found what he was looking for--two togas. He tossed one to Kira and began to put the other on himself.

The togas allowed them to cover their uniforms and blend into the crowd. The folds of the togas also allowed them to use the tricorder without drawing undue attention to themselves. And they allowed Kira to disguise herself. Sisko was sure that if she heard another crude and sexually suggestive remark, she'd want to physically assault whoever made the remark.

On Bajor, it was considered a great insult to make such remarks. But this wasn't Bajor, it was ancient Rome.

A few minutes later, the two joined the crowd outside. The general flow of the crowd was into the large concrete building. A little while later, Sisko and Kira found themselves in what amounted to the "cheap" seats. They sat on crude wooden benches as far away from the other spectators as they could. Far below, there were two men fighting in the arena.

"This is barbarous," Kira said.

"Yes, it is," Sisko agreed. "But it's an important part of Earth's history. These men are called gladiators."

"And this is considered sport?" Kira asked.

"Not really. It's more a form of entertainment for the audience. Personally, I prefer baseball," Sisko said.

The crowd was yelling as the two men fought. One was armed only with a single sword and the other had a net and trident. They parried each other, each trying to find the other's weakness. It quickly became apparent that the man with the sword was the better fighter of the two.

In the crowds around them, people were exchanging money, small metal coins, and arguing with each other. Kira determined by the portions of the conversations the communicator could translate that the transactions were gambling. The odds seemed to be moving to favor a victory by someone called "Maximus."

The crowd began cheering the winner on. "Maximus, Maximus," they yelled. The gladiator's name became a chant. The gladiator with the sword was winning. He had his opponent down and was ready to deliver the death blow.

Sisko was capturing all of it with his tricorder.

Kira finished her own scan. "Another dead end," she said. "Nothing here that doesn't belong here. And as far as I'm concerned, it can all stay here!"

"Understood," Sisko said.

He moved back into a nearly deserted corridor and Kira followed him. "Ready?"

"Yes," she said.

He pressed the recall device and then quickly removed the toga. He didn't want to further complicate their problems by displacing the ancient cloth from its rightful time and place. Kira removed her toga as well, just before the transporter beam caught the two. The toga had barely settled to the floor of the corridor as the two dematerialized.

* * *

Doctor Beverly Crusher and Chief Miles O'Brien materialized on a road at the edge of a small town. The town appeared to have one main street, the road on which they stood. Far in the distance were mountains. Pine trees and the smell of the forest was everywhere.

"Where are we?" O'Brien asked.

Crusher had out her tricorder. She began scanning. "Don't know," she said. She looked around at the scenery. "Where ever it is, it's definitely beautiful."

The two began to walk toward the town. On the way in, they saw a small store. It looked like the sort of general store that they had only seen in a holonovel. The sort of place that served as a store, the post office, and any number of other functions for the small town. A sign outside the store read, "United States Post Office. Cicely, Alaska."

"Alaska," O'Brien said. "Commander Riker's from Alaska, right?"

"Yes," Beverly said. "Now I know why he talks about it so much. It's beautiful here. My god, can you imagine growing up here?"

"No," O'Brien said, honestly.

On one side of the street was a building with a sign on it that read "Roslyn Cafe," but it should have been "Roslyn's Cafe," and someone painted in the apostrophe and the "s" in a different type of paint from the original sign.

Across the street from that building was a store front. As the two Starfleet officers walked by, they could see into a small radio studio. The young man, the disk jockey, waved at them as they walked by. The sign in the window read: "KBHR, Voice of the Last Frontier."

"Last Frontier?" Crusher said. "I thought space was the last frontier?"

O'Brien smiled. "Don't ask me," he said, shrugging.

Just then two men exited from the restaurant opposite the radio station. The two Starfleet officers continued on down the street, but they couldn't help hearing the two men arguing. "Damn it, Maurice, this isn't fair."

"No body said anything about fair, Fleishman. The State of Alaska paid for your medical education and you're going to repay that loan by staying here. Right here! In Cicely, Alaska. And you're going to enjoy it!"

"Well," O'Brien said. "Maybe it's *not* such a great place."

"You can't convince me of that," Crusher said.

The two walked through to the other end of town, barely ten minutes worth of walking. By the time they got there, Crusher had finished her scan.

"Nothing," she said. "I'm picking up nothing that Data said would indicate one of the people we're looking for."

"Then let's head home," O'Brien said. "I've been on DS9 too long; open spaces are beginning to get to me," he laughed.

"Just a minute," Crusher said. She continuing scanning with the tricorder.

"Doctor, I thought you said you didn't pick anything up?"

"I didn't. I just thought Commander Riker might enjoy a little travel log." Crusher put away the tricorder and reluctantly pressed the recall button.

* * *


	15. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 15

### Spanish California

Bruce Wayne reined in the horse. He and Diego were on the road from the de la Vega hacienda to the Pueblo de Los Angeles. The two men had become close friends in the two weeks since Bruce had arrived here.

"What's wrong?" he asked Diego.

The Spaniard pointed to the horizon. "That dust cloud. I think it's the Alcalde's men. They are due to collect taxes today."

Bruce nodded. He and the Spaniard had spent several nights in long discussions. Diego had tried to explain to the Englishman why he dressed as the Fox and fought against the Alcalde's tyranny. Bruce understood the desires that fueled Diego's fight. He himself spent a greater part of his personal fortune and his life on his own similar fight.

"Perhaps a visit to the Alcalde is in order for tonight?" Bruce suggested.

"Si," Diego said. "Perhaps."

* * *

Tony Stark walked into the transporter room. The computer aboard this fabulous ship had informed him that it was time to depart on his "away mission." The computer here was even more advanced than the systems he'd designed himself for the Stark Solutions offices or the Avengers Mansion.

Geordi was in the transporter room, waiting for Stark. La Forge didn't expect Stark to be wearing the armor.

Stark walked in and indicated that he was ready. "I stand up here, right?" he asked, pointing to the transporter pad.

"Right," La Forge told him.

Stark pulled the helmet down over his head. The suit's systems automatically activated the magnetic interlocks and the helmet sealed to the collar of the suit. Inside the helmet, Stark could see the startup sequence in the head's up display.

La Forge joined him on the transporter pad. "Wow," Geordi said. "I never imagined," he said as he tentatively reached out to touch his friend's armor. Powered up fully, the armor became solid, rigid, shiny. Very impressive, Geordi thought, nodding in appreciation.

Inside the suit, Tony smiled. He'd seen this ship and had scanned through the computer library on some the technology used by the Federation and Starfleet. He was proud that the engineer responsible for maintaining the Enterprise was impressed with his little suit.

Geordi turned to Data and O'Brien at the transporter controls. "Energize when ready," Commander La Forge said. He had his tricorder at the ready.

"Energizing," Data said. "Good luck, Geordi. Good luck, Tony."

Commander La Forge and Iron Man were gone before Geordi had a chance to say, "thanks."

* * *

Iron Man and Commander Geordi La Forge materialized in a lightly forested area. Iron Man immediately took a defensive posture and began scanning their surroundings for any potential threats. He didn't have any reason to believe that they were in any danger, but his many years of experience and many training sessions with Captain America were too hard to ignore.

Geordi immediately began scanning with the reprogrammed tricorder. He stepped away from Tony, Iron Man, for a moment. The quantum signature from the armor was strong and was overpowering the tricorder's ability to scan for other quantum signatures.

"Anything?" Iron Man asked.

"No. Your armor is throwing the tricorder off. It's such a large signature, I can't isolate anything else."

"Sorry," Iron Man said.

They waited a moment. Geordi stepped away further, still shaking his head. "I'm still not getting anything else."

"Perhaps I can help. A little reconnaissance might be worth the effort. And I'll move far enough away from you to get a decent reading."

"Uh, sure," Geordi said. "Just keep in communicator range."

"I've got your signal frequency stored in the armor. No way you're getting away from me," Iron Man assured his companion.

With that, Iron Man turned on the boot jets and slowly lifted away from the ground. Geordi stood in awe.

"That really is some suit," Geordi said to himself. "I've got to get me one of those." The engineer immediately started thinking about how to reproduce the exosuit after Stark left, but then remembered his mission. He turned his attention back to his tricorder. He was pleased to see that the interference was clearing up as Stark moved away.

Iron Man flew above the woods. He really had no place to go, he just wanted to put some distance between himself and Geordi so the Starfleet engineer could complete their scan and they could return to the Enterprise.

As he flew, Tony marveled at what he'd learned. Earth, at least in Geordi's universe, survived a nuclear war and eventually combined with other races in the galaxy to form a Federation of Planets. He thought about the few races he and his fellow Avengers had encountered and had a hard time imagining accomplishing anything similar in his own universe.

He passed over a small ridge at the edge of the forest at a height of about 50 feet. Beyond the ridge laid a wasteland. The sensors in his armor detected a large radioactivity level here. He couldn't tell for sure, but he assumed it wasn't natural. His armor was radiation-hardened, so he didn't have to worry about any harm.

Iron Man flew on for several minutes before reaching a coastline. He turned to the left and followed the coast for another several minutes. He was stunned to see the Statue of Liberty come into view.

Lady Liberty was leaning over, and badly deteriorated. "Oh, my god!" Tony exclaimed. Civilization on this version of Earth had somehow fallen under a nuclear war. Saddened, he turned back inland and headed back toward their beam-down point.

After several more minutes of flight, Iron Man saw a small primitive city laid out before him. He was relieved that some portion of the population had apparently survived. Although he was tempted, he didn't go any closer.

Captain Picard and Geordi had both informed him of the Federation's non-interference pact, this "Prime Directive." Although the Federation was an entire universe away, Iron Man felt honor bound to abide by this rule. He was, after all, acting as part of the Enterprise crew.

He quickly shifted his stealth mode systems on. That would prevent any but the most direct observation from seeing him. It also greatly dampened the sound of his boot jets. Iron Man banked back over the forest and headed back to Geordi's location. The engineer should have had enough time to complete his scans by now.

As he circled back to the beam down location, Iron Man came upon a bunch of men riding horses. They were headed roughly in the direction of Geordi. There was no way Geordi could out run them and if they caught him by surprise, he'd inadvertently break the Prime Directive.

Iron Man thought about it for a moment. He wondered if he could swoop down over the riders, perhaps startle the horses slightly. Not enough to hurt anyone, but enough to slow them down. With his stealth mode, surely they wouldn't see enough of him to hurt anything.

He angled himself downward and increased the power to his boot jets. He easily caught up to the horsemen without increasing the amount of sound the baffled jets made. He was just about to fire a low yield repulsor beam across the horse's path when he realized that the riders weren't men.

They were apes. Gorillas to be specific.

Behind the lexan eye shields, Tony Stark blinked. Surely, he was imagining this. Perhaps the cellular deterioration was playing tricks with his vision.

As he got closer, there was no mistaking it. He hovered above the horsemen, uh, horse-apes and tried to decide what to do. Then he saw what the apes where chasing. Humans.

Several nearly naked humans were at the edge of the forest. As soon as they saw the apes, they scattered and ran.

The gorillas had rifles and began to take potshots at the humans. They were still too far away to hit the humans, but they were closing fast.

Just then, the speaker in Iron Man's helmet activated. "Iron Man, this is Commander La Forge. I've got my readings. Another dead end. You can head back. I think we need to leave and in a hurry. I hear gunshots."

"Yes, Geordi, I'm above the shooters right now. They're gor... uh, aliens. They're shooting at what appear to be humans."

"Tony, head back here, now. We have to leave."

"I can't just let them get killed."

"Tony, I understand how you feel, but this isn't our universe," Geordi said. "We have to leave."

Tony thought for a minute. It would be so easy to take out the gorillas with a repulsor blast. "Damn it," Stark said to himself. Geordi is right, he told himself. As much as I hate to admit it, this isn't our fight. And there's a whole lot more at stake.

He increased the power to his boot jets and was over Geordi's position in just a few seconds.

As Iron Man banked to come in for a landing beside Commander La Forge, two of the gorillas on horseback burst upon the small field where Geordi stood.

"Sorry, Geordi," Iron Man said into the communicator. "There's no way I'm going to let those damn dirty apes hurt you--Your 'Prime Directive' be damned."

Iron Man cut the power to his boot jets and landed hard on his feet. His inertia and the weight of the armor forced his feet several inches into the ground. He'd landed directly in front of the two horses, right between them. He reached up as the horses came by and he grabbed the halter of each horse. Electromagnetic servos throughout the armor pulsed; the horses were no match for the transistorized strength of the Golden Avenger.

La Forge stood in stunned silence as he watched Iron Man pull down both horses. Their riders tumbled to the ground, stunned.

Iron Man dropped the halters and ran to where Geordi was standing. "Let's get out of here," he said.

"Aye, aye," La Forge said. He activated the recall device.

Iron Man stood between the stunned gorillas and La Forge. One of the gorillas laid on the ground, stunned and possibly hurt. The other recovered very quickly.

"Filthy humans," the gorilla snarled as he raised his rifle.

The gorilla fired. The shot bounced off Iron Man's chestplate. "Get us out of here," Iron Man said.

"Give it a second," La Forge said. And just then, the transporter reached out and grabbed them.

* * *

### Space Station Deep Space Nine

"Morn!" the gang at Quark's greeted the Lurian who was perhaps the bar's best customer. The heavyset alien waved to the gang and took his regular spot. Rom, working a shift to help out his brother, slid a Yridian ale in front of Morn.

"How's it going today, Morn?" the little Ferengi engineer asked.

Before the talkative Morn could answer, Rom's brother, Quark, came rushing behind the bar. "Rom, we've got big trouble," Quark exclaimed. Quark was so agitated, his ears were quivering and his lobes were slick with sweat.

"What, Brother? Is the Ferengi Commerce Authority after you about Moogie again? Or has Odo found out you've been..."

"Rom, shut up," Quark snapped. "I'm about to lose the bar and you're babbling. Some Andorian just won triple down dabo *five* times. FIVE times in a row! That is mathematically impossible. It's like the universe is upside down or something. There's no possible way it should ever happen..."

"Quark!" It was Commander Worf.

"Stall him," Quark told his brother. "I have to go liquidate some of my investments to pay off the Andorian. Make sure no one steals anything." Quark didn't trust anyone, not even his brother. And today he learned that he couldn't even trust fate. But then, the 236th Ferengi Rule of Acquisition said "You can't buy fate."

What really annoyed Quark was that the Dabo game was rigged. And the Andorian still managed to triple down. Five times!

Worf stalked over to the bar in pursuit of the Ferengi barkeeper. "Uh, Commander Worf," Rom said. "How is Nog doing these days? I understand you keep him quite busy up there in Ops. I didn't want him to join Starfleet and associate with all those hue-mons, but I've been so proud..."

"Rom! Where did Quark run off to?" Worf demanded.

"I think he had to pay off someone at the gaming table..."

Worf interrupted the engineer, "Rom, have you or your brother been reprogramming the station's computer system again?" The tall Klingon towered over the little Ferengi. Worf glared down at Rom, "If you have, I'll find out. It will be better for you both if you come clean with me right now."

"Commander, I haven't even been near the computer core since I helped Chief O'Brien repair the ODN conduits last month. Quark keeps me too busy here and I've been doing the replicator service schedule this month. You know how often those Cardassian replicators break down. And Leeta wants to redecorate our quarters. She has me replicating fabric samples until all hours of the night..."

Worf stomped off. He hated Ferengis, but he hated being left in charge of the station worse. He needed a warp engine under his feet. He needed to be on a ship. Not here on the station dealing with minor computer breakdowns.

The computer system decided today was the day to begin displaying all textual documents upside down and backwards. Worf remembered something vaguely about an ancient Earth scientist writing backwards as a way of preventing people from stealing his ideas, but this just was not the way to run a space station.

If only Chief O'Brien was here. He'd probably have the computer fixed in no time at all.

Worf let Quark's Bar and walked around the Promenade to Odo's office. Maybe the Changling constable had figured out something. Or figured out who did this.

"Constable," Worf said as he entered the Security Office. "Have you found anything. It was that stinking little Ferengi, wasn't it?"

"No," Odo said. "I would like to catch Quark tampering with our systems as much as you would, Commander. But I think I've isolated the problem. As you know, the Starfleet installed coprocessor and peripherals group uses a small subspace field generator. There is apparently some sort of temporal anomaly which is causing the subspace to reverse polarity. We have received several Starfleet advisory notices regarding this."

"And exactly how would we have read them? They're upside and backward!"

Odo morphed his body so that his head and eyes were upside in relation to the computer display. "It's not a problem, really," the constable said.

"This may work for you, but it won't work for the rest of us."

Odo morphed back to his normal shape. He picked up two small hand mirrors from his desk. By arranging them together, he could reverse the image twice, rendering it readable.

Worf was fuming. Klingons preferred to fight something that could fight back. Using a couple little cosmetic mirrors wasn't a warrior's solution to this problem.

* * *

### USS Enterprise, in the Beta Quadrant

After five separate ventures into other universes, the combined crews of the Enterprise and the Defiant had yet to find any of the five people they were looking for.

They had developed an interesting catalog of initial readings from the various universes they'd visited. Picard still wasn't sure what to make of Geordi and Tony's visit to "the planet of the apes," as they had taken to calling their mission. He hoped that Stark's interaction with the apes hadn't created any Prime Directive conflicts.

Although each of the visits were genuinely interesting from a scientific perspective, Picard was beginning to get annoyed with their success rate. He'd been in communication with Starfleet Command and they were likewise less than satisfied. But so far, no one had any other ideas for courses of action.

Doctor Crusher had scanned each of the crew as they returned from their away missions. Some of the crew had experienced more cellular degradation than anticipated. Apparently some universes were more detrimental than others.

Against his wishes, Crusher had taken Picard out of the rotation entirely. She felt that the cellular deterioration was affecting his bio-neural interfaces to his artificial heart. She thought his age might have been a contributing factor.

She was also watching Stark for the same reason. But the engineer from another universe so far hadn't shown any detrimental effects. She theorized that his armor might offer some of protection to the effects of the inter-dimensional travel. Plus, when sealed into the armor, he was using recycled air and not breathing the air native in the other universes he'd visited.

By the end of the first day, they had gone through almost one whole rotation of staff for the away missions. Only Data and Lieutenant Dax had yet to go. Picard had held Data back from earlier missions. He still insisted that no one knew what they were doing better than his second officer, and the Captain loathed the possibility of losing Data.

Dax was at the bottom of the rotation because of her lack of experience. Captain Sisko had confidence in the young Trill. Picard was less optimistic. Granted, the Dax symbiont has multiple lifetimes of experience, but according to her Starfleet record, Ezri was not a candidate for hosting a symbiont. He wasn't convinced that the Lieutenant had learned to handle being a host yet. That left her potentially unstable.

Picard would have preferred to send someone else on the away mission. He would have even preferred someone from outside the crew. Stark had so far made a positive impression on everyone he interacted with. Dr. Crusher, being Chief Medical Officer, was within her designated responsibility to override Picard's decisions based on medical grounds. She insisted that each person had to minimize their exposure to the cellular degradation.

Each away mission narrowed the choices for the future missions. Data, La Forge, and O'Brien had all refined the procedure for scanning, targeting, and beaming into the different universes. They had been able to automate large parts of the process, but it was still extremely dangerous.

Picard went to the transporter room. Dax and Data were there, getting their final briefing from La Forge. Dr. Crusher was doing medical scans on the Trill. She still wasn't sure what effect the cellular degradation would have on the symbiont.

"Commander, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Captain," both said.

"Good luck," Picard said.

"Thank you," Data said as he joined Dax on the transporter. He took out his tricorder and had it ready. "Energize."

* * *

Ezri blinked as they rematerialized. It was pitch dark. Her first thought was that she'd somehow been beamed into a wall, or the ground, or whatever. And then her eyes adjusted from the bright transporter room to the darkness. She saw the stars.

The stars were bright. Not as bright and unobstructed as from space, but the unique brightness, the slight flickering, of stars seen through a clear atmosphere. As much as she loved to see the stars from the observation deck of DS9, she enjoyed seeing them from the surface of a pristine planet more.

She broke herself out of her reverie. Data was already scanning with the tricorder. Apparently the android second officer of the Enterprise wasn't as impressed by the view as she was. But then, he didn't have nine lifetimes of memories reminding him how beautiful the view was.

Ezri took out her own tricorder and began scanning also. Have to make this look good, she told herself. Somewhere deep inside her, she heard Jadzia's thoughts telling her she was doing just fine. That sometimes, it was okay to admire the view along the journey. Life was simply too short.

"Captain Picard will be pleased," Data said. "I believe we have finally located one of the individuals. I'm picking up a lifesign reading from that village. It appears to be a different quantum frequency than the baseline for this universe."

"What village?" Ezri asked. "I can't see anything."

Data looked around. "Yes, it is very dark here," he agreed. "According to the tricorder, there is a small village approximately 300 meters in this direction." He pointed off to his right.

Ezri pointed her tricorder in the general direction Data had pointed. "Yeah, I got it." Dumb mistake, Ezri, she told herself. If that was an enemy location, they could have killed us by now.

"We will need to get closer to be sure."

"Lead on, Commander."

"Very well, Lieutenant."

"Uh, Commander?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"You can call me Ezri," she said.

"Very well, Ezri."

Data lead the young Trill through the darkness.

* * *

The two men had left their horses in the brush near the eastern wall of the pueblo. Batman helped boost Zorro up to the top of the wall and then quickly followed. The wall was only about 12 feet tall and he didn't need to use the grapple gun he carried in the holster at his hip.

Zorro dropped silently into the courtyard on the inside of the wall. Batman likewise followed him.

"Which way?" Batman asked in Spanish, his voice low.

"This way, Senor," Zorro. The Fox pointed to the Alcalde's villa. It was at the opposite side of the village.

"Why didn't we climb that wall?"

"And where would the challenge be in that?" Zorro's teeth shone in the dim starlight of the night as he smiled.

Batman shook his head. This Zorro was indeed the Robin Hood of old Southern California. He had a noble undertaking, but he had an adventurous spirit. Batman had seen too many people hurt because they didn't take this seriously. They considered it a game.

Zorro was scurrying from shadow to shadow. Thankfully, the village was quiet.

Batman would have preferred to have stayed to the rooftops, but the slate and clay roofs would have been too noisy.

The two men quickly and quietly made their way across the village. The were headed to the Alcalde's villa.

Zorro believed that the pueblo's governor had kept some of the tax money for himself. It was Zorro's intent to liberate some of that money and return it to the rightful citizens of the pueblo and the surrounding area.

This is really more Catwoman's game, Batman thought. Or Ollie, God rest his soul. This was just the sort of social injustice that Green Arrow would have gotten involved with. "Here's to you, Ollie," Batman mouthed to himself as he and Zorro reached the outside of the Alcalde's villa.

* * *

"So how do we get in?" Ezri asked. She and Data had circled the village. It was similar to an ancient Bajorian or Trill village; a baked clay brick wall, about 4 meters tall. The gates were closed for the night.

Data looked around, and then up. He pointed to the top of the wall.

"Look, Data, I didn't remember to bring any anti-grav boots. Did you?"

"Lieutenant," Data said, "Ezri, you do not weigh that much. I have calculated that I have the sufficient strength to lift you to the top of that wall."

"And how will you get over the wall?"

"I will jump," Data said, matter-of-factly.

He held out his hands, cupped in front of him. "Ezri?" he prompted.

Ezri tucked her tricorder into its harness at her waist and reluctantly placed a foot in Data's hands.

"Are you ready?" Data asked.

"No," Ezri said.

Data waited patiently. Ezri took a deep breath and tried to put Jadzia and Curzon's thoughts from her mind. She tried to sift through her thoughts. What she really needed was Emony's help right now. The third host of the Dax symbiont, Emony had been a galaxy-class gymnast. From somewhere deep within her, she felt a feeling of confidence. She couldn't tell if that was Emony or Torias. Torias had been a pilot. Every pilot she'd ever known had a certain amount of cockiness--confident even when they had no right to be.

"Ready," she said. The next thing she knew, she was at the top of the wall and hanging on tight. Data had lifted, no make that thrown, her with just the right amount of force to lift her to exactly the right point.

She hung on to the top of the wall with both arms. Ezri tried swinging one leg up. At first, it didn't make it. The rush of adrenaline gave her a boost in strength and the second time, her boot heel caught the edge of the wall. By the time she hoisted herself onto the top of the wall, she realized that Data was already on the top of the wall.

And she watched as he lightly dropped to the other side and stood waiting patiently to catch her as she dropped the four meters to the ground.

"Now what?" she asked as she stood beside Data. The inside of the village appeared as quiet as the outside.

Data had out his tricorder and was taking another reading. "Yes, the reading is stronger here. Definitely someone that is not native to this universe."

"Where?"

"This way," Data said and he began walking through the deserted streets of the village.

The village was small. It only took Data and Ezri a few minutes to cross the main square at the center of the village. Ezri didn't recognize the architecture of the buildings, but as they passed the largest building in the village, Data whispered that he thought they were on Earth, sometime between the sixteenth and nineteenth century. The Enterprise's second officer had correctly identified the building as one of the missions built by the Spanish in what was called at that time "the New World."

"There," Data said finally, pointing seemingly into the dark.

Ezri didn't see anything. She squinted and still didn't see anything. The village was quiet and everything was a shadow in the darkness. The stars were bright, but they didn't provide enough light for her to see.

Then, she thought she saw the shadow move. And then another. Two people, both dressed in black, appeared to be blended into the shadows between the buildings.

Data approached the two in a straightforward manner. "Excuse me," he said as he reached the first man. The man grabbed Data's arm and tried to maneuver the android against wall. Data was stronger and didn't move.

"Excuse me," Data said again. "Do you understand me?"

The first man didn't say anything, but tried another move. Data once again resisted the man's efforts.

The second man drew a sword and moved to confront Ezri. In panic, the young Trill forgot everything she'd been taught at Starfleet Academy in hand-to-hand self defense. But Curzon and Jadzia hadn't forgotten. Without thinking, Ezri deflected the sword easily and she took advantage of her shorter height. She slipped under the man's arm and applied a Klingon punch to the man's throat.

"Sir, you do not belong here. We are here to take you home," Data tried to explain to the first man, the one with the long black cape.

The first man stopped fighting. "Zorro, I think these two are okay," he told his companion, in Spanish. The second man was busy trying to recover his voice.

"Who are you?" the first man asked, his voice deep and gruff. Ezri had heard a similar voice in nearly every Klingon she'd ever met. They all thought it made them sound tough.

"That will require some explaining," Data said. "Perhaps we should remove ourselves from this village before we disturb the inhabitants."

Batman repeated the conversation to Zorro in Spanish.

"Si," the second man said. He headed to the nearest wall, still holding his throat.

When the four reached the wall, Data assisted Ezri up and turned to offer his assistance to the other two. He seemed somewhat surprised that they had both managed to scale the wall themselves. Without further delay, the android jumped over the wall and arrived on the other side just as the first man was helping Ezri down.

As Batman helped the young woman down, he noticed that she had a number of spots along her hair line. He couldn't tell if they were tattoos or a natural coloration. They were darker and larger than mere freckles. He had the distinct impression that although she looked human, she wasn't. It was an unconscious feeling; the same feeling he got around Superman and Jon Jonzz.

The two men blended into the darkness, as did the two Starfleet officers. The current issue Starfleet uniform was mostly black, with only the department color across the shoulders. Regardless, the four retreating into the brush beyond the wall.

As they walked through the brush, Batman noticed that the pale-skinned man moved with a certain precision. Was he an android? Batman wondered. Something about his body language reminded Batman of the Red Tornado. And that would account for why he was able to block my judo moves, he told himself.

"Okay, who are you?" Batman demanded when they were about 40 meters from the village.

"My name is Commander Data. This is Lieutenant Dax. We are with Starfleet. We were sent here to find you."

"Starfleet?" the man asked, suspicious.

"It's the exploration and defense arm of the Federation of Planets," Ezri tried to explain. "You probably never heard of us, right?"

The man didn't respond, but he said something to the other man in a language Ezri didn't understand.

Batman tried to explain in terms Zorro would understand. He lied to his friend, "They are travelers from my country," he said in Spanish. "Here to assist me in getting home." 

Data apparently understood the language. "We would rather not reveal too much more around your companion. He is from this universe, correct? The less information we unwittingly impart to this universe's inhabitants, the better."

"Yes. But how do I know you're who you say you are?" Batman asked.

"You do not," Data said. He tried to describe as much as he knew about this man, perhaps to convince him that they were after his best interests, or at least to convince him that they knew where he really was from. "I can tell you that you were with four other people immediately before you came here. In an urban setting. There were two other men and two women."

Batman nodded. Kent and Bond were the other two men, and Lane and Catwoman were the two women. Whoever these strangers were, they knew a lot about him. And they knew that he didn't belong here. How they knew, he had no idea. He'd expected Flash or the young Green Lantern to somehow find him. He never expected the mismatched pair before him.

"And you have a way to get me home?"

Data paused. They didn't actually have a way to get the people home yet. They still didn't know what universe was the man's rightful universe. But he knew that his own universe, in fact all universes, were at risk if they didn't get this man and all the others back to their own universe. Data did something he very rarely did. He lied. "Yes," he said in his most convincing voice.

The man in the long black cape and the pointed-eared cowl looked at the two Starfleet officers for several long minutes. He finally said, "Okay."

Batman then turned to Zorro and said, in Spanish, "Looks like they do have a way for me to get home."

"Are you sure? They don't look like the men you described. Your friends, the one's you were expecting."

"No," Batman agreed, "But right now, I've got no choice. I have to trust them."

"Then I guess this is adios. I will miss you, my friend," Zorro said. He held out his gloved hand.

Batman took the hand in both of his and clasped the Spaniard's hand firmly. "And I will miss you too, Diego. Now hurry, before the Alcalde learns of your little plan."

"Si," Zorro said. He whistled and from out of the dark, a large black horse appeared, startling Ezri. The Spaniard took the Trill's hand, kissed it, and then saluted the three. He then mounted the horse and rode away.

Batman turned to the other two after Zorro rode off. "Now, tell me the rest of your story."

"We do not actually have a way to return you to your universe," Data explained. "But we will find a way. In the meantime, our universe, and possibly others, including your own, are suffering temporal disturbances. We believe the source of the disturbances is the displacement of yourself and the other four people from your world."

"What about the guy in the tin suit?" Batman had seen the gold and red armor just as he'd blacked out before awakening here in old California. He wasn't called the world's greatest detective for nothing. It was obvious that the person in the gold and red armor had something to do with this.

"He is assisting us. We will return him to his own universe as well."

"What do we do?" Batman asked.

"Just stand here for a moment." And Data activated the recall device.

And a moment later, the three disappeared from outside Pueblo de Los Angeles.

* * *

Geordi La Forge was in the transporter room when Data's recall signal came in. As soon as the Chief Engineer saw three people beginning to materialize on the transporter pad, he immediately signaled to Captain Picard. Data and Ezri apparently were successful in finding at least one of the "lost souls" as Dr. Crusher had begun calling the five individuals.

Leave it to Data to succeed where the rest of us failed, Geordi thought.

The three people materialized and the transporter effect went away. Data and Ezri stepped down from the transporter pad, but their visitor remained. The tall man in black stood where he'd materialized and looked around for a moment before likewise stepping down from the transporter platform.

"Welcome to the Enterprise," La Forge told the newcomer. As the ranking officer on duty in the transporter room, it was his responsibility to greet visitors.

"Where am I?" the stranger asked. His voice was deep and gravely. It sent a chill down La Forge's neck to hear him talk.

La Forge recognized him. Not from having met, of course, but rather from the video replay Stark's armor had captured during the transition from one universe to another.

The man was one of the two costumed individuals they had seen in the video. The man was nearly as tall as Worf, with shoulders and a chest the match of the Klingon's. He wore a long black cape that totally covered him. His head and the upper portion of his face was covered with a matching cowl. The cowl had a pointed ear that stood straight up on each side of the man's head. Although he was completely covered by the dark costume, La Forge had the distinct impression that the visitor was human.

"This is the Starfleet ship, USS Enterprise. You're in the 24th century," La Forge tried to explain.

As with Stark, La Forge was somewhat surprised that the man before them didn't seem overly confused about the time travel. Maybe there are more people used to the concept than we thought, Geordi told himself. Or maybe time travel is just a lot more common in other universes than it is in ours.

Just then, Captain Picard, Dr. Crusher, and Counselor Troi arrived. Picard had asked Troi to greet each of the travelers and appraise him of their mental condition.

"Ah, hello," Picard said. "I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Welcome to my ship." Picard stepped toward the dark visitor and extended his hand.

Batman took the bald captain's hand. He could sense the fact that this man was somehow in charge. Things hadn't changed that much in 400 years, he thought. "I'm Batman," he said.

"*Bat* Man?" Dr. Crusher said. She had her tricorder out and began scanning him. "That's an interesting name," she commented.

"Batman. Of course," Picard said. "The ears, the cape. You must be one of the 'superheroes' Tony was telling us about."

"Who's Tony?" Batman asked. He wasn't used to being the center of so much attention. And when he was at the center of things, he liked to be in charge. He definitely didn't feel in charge now.

The pale man that had approached him in Los Angeles spoke up. In the light of this ship, Batman could see that the other man was definitely different. If not some sort of android, then an alien. "He is the gentleman in the 'tin suit' that you asked about," Data said. "Apparently, in his universe, he also serves in such a vigilante role. As you do in yours, correct?"

Batman nodded. He'd have to compare notes with this "Tony" fellow.

Picard introduced the remainder of his crew to their new visitor.

"Data, what took you so long?" La Forge asked. "You've both been gone for almost two days."

"Two days?" Ezri said. "We barely left."

"Lieutenant Dax is correct," Data said. "We were only gone approximately 18 point 3 minutes. If there was a discrepancy between how long we were away from the Enterprise and how long we were on the surface of the planet, I believe it could be explained by either the effects of the temporal anomaly or by the relative rates at which time passes in each universe. To speculate any further without additional information would be inefficient."

"Data, that can wait for later," Picard said. "Right now, we need to see if the retrieval of...uh, Batman, here, has changed the effects of the anomaly here in this universe. Perhaps you can contact the Vulcan Science Academy and update them on our progress here."

"Yes, Captain." With that Data excused himself from the room and left.

"Geordi?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Get Mr. Stark down here. I'd like him to assist us in debriefing Batman." Picard turned back to their new guest. "Surely that is a nom de plume? I'd feel more comfortable knowing your real name."

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," Batman said. "Your Commander Data indicated that you were attempting to recover the other people that were with me. At least one of them is a criminal in my world, my time. I can't have any of you unintentionally giving away my real identity. You won't do that if you don't know it."

"Very well," Picard said. "Batman it is. Doctor?"

"He's got very little cellular deterioration, Jean-Luc. But I'm picking up a lot of healed injuries. Otherwise, he's very healthy. In some ways, the peak of human physiology. I'd guess he could even give Mr. Worf a workout."

"Well," Picard said. It wasn't often that Picard heard Beverly so impressed with any of her patients. This whole mission was becoming very interesting, he thought. Geordi was obviously impressed with Mr. Stark and his suit of armor. The two engineers had become almost inseparable. And now Beverly was fawning over their newest guest. Two of the individuals they had yet to retrieve were women. Picard wearily wondered if Riker would make a pass at one or both.

"We'll arrange quarters for you, Batman," he said. "And then, we need to do some debriefing."

"I understand," Batman said.

"Lieutenant Dax, please see to having quarters assigned for Batman. Commander Riker can assist you if necessary."

"Yes, Captain," the young Trill said. "You can follow me," she told the tall man in black. She headed out of the transporter room and Batman followed.

After Batman and Dax left, Picard turned to Counselor Troi. "Counselor, what were your impressions?"

"A very complex individual," Troi said. "He didn't seem phased at all by the time travel or the fact that the universe was at risk. He's obviously dealt with life and death problems in the past, probably as the primary decision maker. I got a definite impression that he prefers to be in charge than to follow. Very intense feelings from him, but very very controlled. I sensed an almost Vulcan-like control."

In her earlier assessment, Troi had also categorized Tony Stark as "intense," Picard thought. Q, Klingons, Cardassians, Jem'Hadar, and now superheroes. Everyone I encounter these days is "intense," he said to himself. It almost made him want to deal with the Borg for a change.

* * *

Picard was in his ready room sometime later when Riker walked in. "Captain," his first officer said.

"Yes, Number One?"

"I was just preparing the weekly status report. I'm not sure Starfleet is going to understand some of this."

"Some of what, Will?"

"Men dressed up as bats, horse riding gorillas, Roman gladiator fights, well... well, it just all seems so... fantastic," Riker said.

"I seem to remember you being the one that was complaining about being bored before this mission started," Picard reminded his second in command.

"Point taken," Riker conceded.

* * *


	16. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 16

### USS Enterprise, in the Beta Quadrant

Lieutenant Dax lead the tall stranger in black through the corridors of the Enterprise. He was stoic and silent, just like Worf.

She finally arrived at the section of the ship where the visitors were being quartered. Tony Stark's cabin was next to the one they were assigning to Batman. Before going into the cabin itself, Ezri stopped at the large directional display that was present in nearly every corridor.

"If you get lost, these panels can direct you. Just indicate where you're going and the ship's computer will tell you how to get there."

The tall man nodded. He seemed taller than before. In the light of the ship, he stood out instead of blending into the night as when she and Data had first met him.

"And your cabin is over here." She showed Batman how the announcer pad worked and the door to the cabin slide silently open.

Inside the cabin was spartan, but functional. She showed him the refresher and toilet facilities. Throughout the entire tour of the cabin, the man had yet to say a word.

"You know, I'm not scared of you," Ezri said.

"Are you trying to convince me of that?" Batman asked, "Or yourself?"

"Maybe both," the young woman said.

"You can hang your cape in the closet. I don't know if you want to send it through the clothes recycler--it might not return it."

"Thanks," Batman said. "I'll keep it on."

"Just because you don't want to tell us your name, doesn't mean you can't change clothes. I'm sure we could find you something else to wear."

"I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will."

Ezri then walked to the replicator. "We have a mess hall, but if you want to eat by yourself, or need just about anything else, this is your replicator."

"How does it work?"

"Just tell it what you want," Ezri said. "We'll program the computer to recognize your voice." She stood a little closer to the replicator and said, "Water, cold, with ice." A second later, a glass of ice water appeared in the slot. "See? And this panel here allows you to pick from a menu if you don't want to use the voice interface."

Batman nodded.

"And over here is the computer terminal. There are limits to what you'll be allowed to access, of course, but most of our music and literature library has no restrictions."

Batman nodded again.

This guy makes Worf look like a chatterbug, Ezri said.

She sat down in front of the terminal. "Computer, this is Lieutenant Ezri Dax. Please configure an access profile for a visitor, designation: Batman, no first name, no last name." She looked up at the man towering over her. She felt so small, so short lately. It probably had something to do with Jadzia having been so much taller and the symbiont had Jadzia's memories now. Her perception was skewed by the symbiont's remembrances of prior hosts.

"Sir, please state your name out loud. The computer will identify you by voice."

"My name is Batman," he said.

"Voice recorded. User identified," the computer terminal said. "Welcome to the Enterprise, Batman." It was a female voice. Batman wondered what Oracle would think of this setup.

"You know, I have a friend you'd probably get along with," Ezri said. "He talks about as much as you do. He's a Klingon."

"What's a cling on?" Batman wondered.

Ezri turned back to the computer. "Computer, please display the service record of Commander Worf, currently strategic operations officer of Deep Space Nine."

The computer displayed a stern looking alien. The man's skull ridges reminded Batman a little of Jon Jonzz. But in this case, the man had dark skin instead of Jon's green.

"This is a Klingon," Ezri said.

Batman noticed the change in her voice. He assumed the man meant something to the young woman. "Who is he?" Batman asked.

"He's my husband...no, that's not right, he *used* to be my husband. No, not really. Well, it's complicated," she said. "He's a friend."

Batman stood impassive. The young Trill squirmed in the chair. "He used to be the husband of Jadzia Dax," she tried to explain.

Same last name, Batman noted. "Your sister?" he guessed.

"No. I'm a Trill. Some of our race are joined with a symbiont. I'm Ezri. The symbiont is Dax. Together, we're Ezri Dax. Jadzia was Worf's wife. She died and they put the Dax symbiont in me." She looked up at the still impassive Batman. "I told you it was complicated."

Surprisingly, he nodded his agreement. "But then, I'm guessing you've got your own story, don't you. Not everyone runs around dressed up like a giant bat..."

"It's complicated," he said.

"Oh, great, now you're a comedian."

Batman decided it was time to change the subject. "Your captain said something about a briefing?"

"Yes," Ezri said. She stood and headed for the door. Batman followed her.

As they walked through the corridor, the young woman wouldn't stop talking. It was obvious to Batman that she was nervous and probably less experienced than the remainder of the crew. "You seem young for a Lieutenant," Batman commented.

"I'm the ninth host for the Dax symbiont," she explained. "I have the memories of all the previous hosts, and some of the experiences. Starfleet respects that experience," she paused. "Well, actually, the rank is basically honorary. I'm the station's counselor."

They had arrived at the turbolift. The doors opened as they approached. "Bridge," Ezri said.

"Counselor?" Batman asked. "Like a psychiatrist?"

"Sort of."

"That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why you're so interested in my motivations. Why I dress like this and do what I do."

"Well, that's part of it," Ezri said. "Actually, my boyfriend is a big history buff. Loves your time period. Oh, here we are."

The elevator, the turbolift, she'd called it, stopped and the doors opened. Ezri lead Batman out and onto the bridge of the Enterprise. "Permission to enter the bridge, sir?" Ezri asked.

"Permission granted," Riker said. The tall bearded first officer stepped forward. "You must be Batman? Captain Picard told me about you. My name is Commander William T. Riker. I'm the second in command here."

The two men eyed each other, almost a contest of wills. Riker realized Picard had been right about this guy; he was the human equivalent to a Vulcan. "The briefing room is back here," Riker said finally. He walked up the ramp leading from the lower part of the bridge and past the rear workstations. Batman and Ezri followed.

As they walked across the back of the bridge, Batman looked around briefly. There was a large center view screen. On the screen was a picture of deep space. When he'd arrived, the black man operating the transporter had mentioned something about a 'starship.' Batman had realized that were on a spaceship, but seeing the stars, just hanging there like that, brought the realization home.

The bridge was roughly circular in shape. The view screen was considered the front. A couple small stations at the front were manned by two officers. The bridge was basically bisected by a large curved rail. In front of the railing were several chairs. The largest chair was the one in the middle. The one Riker had been in. Obviously the captain's chair, used by whoever was in command at the moment.

The three walked into the briefing room. Captain Picard was there, as was La Forge, the one that had greeted Batman when he'd arrived. And the pale Mr. Data, the brunette Counselor Troi, and the redheaded doctor, Crusher, was it? Batman noticed that there were a couple other people he didn't know. There was a dark-haired man with a thin moustache and a curly hair man. And beside Picard was a black man with a sharp goatee and a bald head. Two empty chairs waited. All the people were seated around a conference table.

Picard stood as they walked in the room. "Uh, Batman, I hope Lieutenant Dax has shown you to your quarters," Picard said.

"Yes, she was extremely efficient. Thank you, Lieutenant," Batman said.

"Thank you, Dax. You're dismissed," the bald black man said.

"Yes, Captain," Ezri said. She gave Batman one last look and left.

Captain? Batman wondered. I thought Picard was the captain, he asked himself.

"Please, have a seat, Batman," Riker said.

Batman sat in one of the open chairs and Riker sat in the other.

Picard spoke up. "You've already met some of my crew," he said. "Those that you haven't met are Commander Riker, my first officer. This is Captain Benjamin Sisko of the USS Defiant. The Defiant is here on this mission with us. And this is Chief O'Brien and Tony Stark." Picard pointed out each as he said their names. "Gentlemen, this is Batman."

The Dark Night Detective nodded to each in turn as they were introduced. "Mr. Data mentioned something about 'temporal disturbances'?" Batman asked.

"Yes," Picard said. "I'll let Mr. Stark begin."

The dark haired man with the moustache stood and walked to the display screen at the end of the room. Everyone turned their chairs to see.

"My name is Tony Stark. I'm from the year 2000, but apparently in a different universe. I'm an engineer." He pressed a section of the display screen. A picture of the gold and red armor that Batman had seen briefly appeared on the screen. "I invented this exosuit of armor. When I wear it, I'm known as Iron Man. I understand Batman's reluctance to share his real name or remove his cowl. I had the same reluctance when I got here. But, since I'm the only one here from *my* universe, I guess it's safe for me to do so."

"You're a vigilante?" Batman said.

"I guess you could call it that," Stark agreed. "Anyway, as Iron Man, I had a little run in with a character called 'Mandarin'." He pressed the display again and the group watched the video display of the fight.

"The woman is a colleague, named Black Widow. Don't let the body fool you. She could probably whip the bunch of you. I've tangled with Mandarin several times before. Those rings of his are alien in origin. They pack quite a punch."

Stark paused the display just as his image on screen fired the repulsors, Mandarin fired, and Black Widow shot her Widow's Bite. "At this point," Stark said, "I happened to be standing on a time machine."

Batman shook his head. Just what the young Lieutenant had said, he told himself, it's just too complicated.

"We're still not sure exactly what happened, but somehow the time machine was activated. We speculated that the energy discharge from my armor, and the alien energy from the Mandarin's rings, and from the electrical charge of the Black Widow's blast affected the temporal displacement field of the time machine. Instead of moving through time, the machine and I were moved across dimensions."

Stark touched the display again and the video playback continued. "This is slowed down," he explained. It rolled forward at about 1/10th speed. "I seem to have appeared in *your* universe, Batman. About 50 feet above you and four other people. Before I could fall, the time machine cycled again and I found myself here." The display continued until right after the flash. Stark stopped the display again and rewound it to just before the flash. The image of Batman and the other four people was frozen on the screen.

"Can you identify these other people?" Picard asked. "We think knowing more about who we're looking for might assist our search."

"I know them," Batman said. "The woman in purple is Selina Kyle, also known as Catwoman."

"*Cat* Woman?" Dr. Crusher asked. "Are all the superheroes in your world named after animals?" she asked innocently.

"She's not a superhero. She's a master thief," Batman said. "She had just stolen the gemstone you see in the image. The man in the suit and I were both chasing her."

"Do you know anything about the gemstone?" La Forge asked.

"It's a cat's eye that belonged to the royal family of Great Britian. It's reputed to possess mystical powers."

"Who are the rest of the people?" Data asked.

"The big guy is a colleague of mine. An alien that goes by the name of Superman. The other woman is his wife. They were apparently on vacation; we ran into them purely by coincidence. The other man was a British agent--his name is Bond. Supposed to be protecting the gemstone."

"What sort of alien?" Dr. Crusher asked. "Do you know anything about his physiology? We've speculated that there's something about him that affected the gemstone and the time machine."

Batman nodded. "Possibly. He's a Kryptonian." He could tell by the looks on all their faces that they'd never heard of a Kryptonian any more than he'd heard of a Klingon. "His body absorbs sunlight. He can fly under his own power, he's super strong, can project heat from his eyes. Practically indestructible."

"That explains it," Stark said. "We've studied the flash you saw at the end of the video. It's actually coming from the gemstone. And since he's holding it at that point, we wondered what caused the gem to flare. Somehow, it must have absorbed energy from him. And when the time machine and I came close enough, the temporal displacement energy affected it."

"Makes sense," La Forge said. And both O'Brien and Data nodded agreement.

"What special powers do the rest of these people have?" Riker wondered.

"None. Catwoman's perfectly human. And as far as I know, the other woman and the British agent are too."

"Captain," Data said. "I would like to have a little while to study this. If we can work backwards from this Superman's powers and calculate exactly how much power he might have imparted to the gemstone, we might be able to refine our search."

"Make it so," Picard said. The two captains got up and left. As did Riker and Counselor Troi.

Data, La Forge, O'Brien, and Stark stayed behind to query Batman more about Superman. Dr. Crusher stayed to lend her medical knowledge.

"Since we do not know exactly what this man's biochemistry is, how can we make any assumptions?" Crusher asked.

"Perhaps we can work backward from what he's capable of," O'Brien suggested. "The same way we figure out how powerful a starship's engines are by observing how fast it travels."

"Tell us more about his powers," Stark said.

"He can fly around the Earth in only a couple of minutes," Batman said. "And lift battleships out of the water. He's practically impossible to kill."

"Nobody can do that," Crusher said.

"Maybe not in this universe," Stark said. "But there *are* people in my universe that can do similar things. Have me tell you about the Hulk sometime. Heck, with enough power, my armor can almost do either of those tasks." He saw La Forge smile.

"The amount of energy required to do either of those actions is quite considerable," Data said. "The man seems to suffer no ill effects from being in contact with the gemstone, so we have to assume that the gem either has a power source of its own or that the amount of energy that it absorbed from him is negligible."

Data paused. The android's eyes blinked several times as he performed a number of calculations. "We know Batman's quantum frequency and can extrapolate from his biochemistry the probable wavelengths of his universe's sunlight," Data continued. "We will make some assumptions based on Tony's passage from his own universe and Batman's passage from his. This should allow us to refine the probably location of the others."

He reached for the personal access data display on the table before him. Data spent several minutes entering in a series of numbers.

"Geordi, I think we can alter our search to only these quantum frequencies," he said after a moment. He showed La Forge and O'Brien a list of numbers he'd hastily entered into the PADD. They nodded and passed the PADD to Stark. He likewise nodded.

* * *

### From the Journal of Thomas Magnum:

What can I say. Sometimes, my little voice is right.

Something about Mary told me that she was going to be a problem. If only I'd known.

* * *

### Oahu, Hawaii

Selina Kyle left Robin's Nest in the middle of the night. She successfully exited the main house without waking Higgins. And the Ferrari wasn't in front of the guest house, so she assumed Thomas was out late. And the dogs weren't a bother. Somehow, through some canine instinct no doubt, they knew she didn't belong here and were actually scared of her.

She slipped into her Catwoman costume; the dark purple bodysuit and black boots helped her blend into the night. Not as good as Batman and his cronies, but still. She had several changes of clothes--Bless Higgins. Look out Honolulu, Catwoman is on the prowl, she thought as she headed up the road.

* * *

### USS Enterprise, somewhere in the Beta Quadrant

Batman removed his costume and headed into the space age bathroom. Diego had offered all the hospitality possible, but early nineteenth century Spanish California just wasn't the height of bathing technology.

As he understood it, the ship's systems could take dirty clothes, reduce them to their component molecules, recycle everything, and then regenerate the clothes clean. Apparently the replicator worked the same way with food. And the transporter worked on an even more sophisticated level to move a person from point to point.

But Batman wasn't willing to subject the major portions of his costume to the process, even if he wanted to. Like Stark's armor suit, the costume originated in an entirely different universe. The android Data had suggested that as much of the original material from each universe had to be returned to that same universe to reverse the temporal disruptions.

Stark had been here for a couple days now. He'd shown Batman how to replicate the basic undergarments and toiletries that they were familiar with. But the cowl, cape, and bodysuit of the costume couldn't be cleaned any other way than by hand.

So, Batman was in the bathroom, washing his costume by hand. And then, he'd head to the shower himself. If only Alfred could see me now, he thought. His butler had often teased him that he couldn't take care of himself.

After cleaning his costume and showering, Batman put the costume back on. It was one of the advantages of the kevlar and synthetic materials--they dried almost instantly. Batman had designed the costume that way; he was often out in the weather, rain, snow, whatever, and preferred to be as dry as possible as quick as possible.

He knew the crew was about to attempt another retrieval. An "away mission," they called it. He headed to the transporter room. If anyone was going after Catwoman or Superman, he wanted to be in on it.

He walked into the transporter room just as Riker and Picard were getting ready to leave. Dr. Crusher was there, as was Commander Data. "Captain," he said.

"Yes?"

"You're going after the remaining people." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Picard said.

"I know all of them. I want to go along."

"I don't think I can allow that," Picard said.

"You let Stark go."

"That was different."

"No it wasn't," Batman said. "Catwoman is my responsibility. She stole the gemstone once and I stopped her. I would have stopped her again if Bond hadn't gotten in the way. And none of this would have happened. And Superman is a friend."

Picard listened to the man talk. It was the most Batman had said since arriving. Just like himself, and Stark, it was obvious to Picard that Batman felt responsible for what was happening. No one understood that more than Picard. All along, he'd assumed that Q was somehow involved, and that made it *his* responsibility. But there was no doubt about the roles Stark and Batman had inadvertently played in the events leading up to the temporal anomaly.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"When Batman came aboard, you said he had less cellular damage than you expected?"

"Yes. Considering that he spent two weeks in that universe, he had very little cellular deterioration. It's possible that universe was just very similar to his own, or it could be something unique to his metabolism, I can't say."

"How does he compare to the rest of us?"

"Better than you, if that's what you're asking. As Chief Medical Officer, it's my informed opinion that you shouldn't go on anymore away missions."

"Will?"

"He's doing better. It might have something to do with your relative ages."

"Well, Number One, how do you feel about trading partners on this away mission?"

Riker looked first at his captain and then at the costumed hero. "I *would* prefer that you stay on the ship, Captain. I can work with this Batman." Riker took it as a point of pride that he could work with anyone. Early in their mission aboard the Enterprise-D, he'd even served aboard a Klingon vessel for a short time.

"Very well, Number One," Picard said. He was loathe to relinquish his position on the away team, but the doctor had some good points. And it would give him time to contact Starfleet again and update them on Data's revised estimates. "Batman, you can go. But Riker is in charge of the mission. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Batman said. "But if we run into Catwoman, she's *my* responsibility."

The two men stared hard at each other. Picard was the first to blink. Sometimes the best way to lead was to know when to back down. "You said she's a thief. It's not like she's a super-powered mass murderer or something."

"No. But she is sneaky. I can only imagine the damage she's done if she's landed somewhere where people don't know what to do with someone like her. Stark told me about your 'Prime Directive'," Batman said. "I can guarantee you that where ever she is, she's causing trouble."

Picard moved out of Batman's way, clearing the way for the Dark Knight to step up onto the transporter platform. "Good luck, Will," Picard said.

"Thank you, Jean-Luc. Energize," Riker said.

* * *

### From the Journal of Thomas Magnum:

The last three nights, a cat burglar has struck three different times. Now, I have absolutely nothing to prove it, but I have a feeling that Mary is the cat burglar.

Well, not nothing. I remember that costume she was wearing when we found her. At the time, Higgins and I had assumed it was a scuba suit. But how many scuba suits come with leather boots and lock-picking tools. And the hood of the costume had ears on it. Cat ears.

As crazy as it sounds, I think Mary is some sort of costumed criminal.

All three of the robberies occurred from museums and private art collections. I've got Rick looking into what Icepick might know about someone wanting to fence some high-value artwork. But in the meantime, I'm trying to figure out where she might strike next.

* * *

### Robin's Nest

"You know, Magnum," Higgins said. "If you're right, I might be able to help you."

"How so, Higgins?"

The two were in Higgins' office in the main house. "Look," the older man said. He laid out the current day's newspaper on the desk. The front page article was about the robberies. "All of the items have had a cat motif. A cat's eye gemstone from the Contemporary Museum, an Egyptian gold cat from the Arthur P. Jones estate, and some rare ancient coins from Admiral Newton."

"The coins don't have a cat motif, Higgins," Thomas pointed out.

"They were from the island of Manx. Where do you think the Manx cat comes from?"

Thomas scowled. He hated it when Higgins was right. "So?"

"So, Mrs. Ethel Tulving, a friend of Robin Masters, has probably the most extensive collection of jade on the island. The centerpiece of the collection is a Chinese carving of a tiger. It could very well be her next target."

"We need to contact this Mrs. Tulving. Have her beef up her security..."

"No, Magnum. I'll contact Mrs. Tulving. But I think we have to catch her in the act. If we scare her off, she'll just go somewhere else."

That night, Thomas Magnum camped out in the penthouse suite owned by Mrs. Tulving. It had taken Higgins nearly an hour to convince the woman that their plan would work. In the end, Mrs. Tulving had accepted Higgins' invitation to remain at Robin's Nest for the evening and to allow Magnum to stake out her suite.

Thomas crouched in the dark. He was behind the couch, across from the balcony window and door. If someone was going to try and get into the penthouse without tripping the alarm, the weakest point of entry was the balcony.

It was a few minutes after 2 am when Thomas heard a noise. A very small noise, but a noise that didn't belong. He resisted the urge to look up over the back of the couch and instead waited.

A moment later, another sound. Someone was on the balcony. How that was possible, Thomas had no idea. It was a 15 floor climb from the ground floor to the penthouse. Regardless of how they did it, someone was trying to break into the suite.

* * *

Batman and Riker materialized in an alley. It was dark. Based on his years of experience, Batman thought it was sometime in the quiet of the early morning. Maybe 2 or 3 am. It was dark, the type of dark that only comes in the deepest hours of the night. And it was fairly quiet. Most people, even dedicated night people, tended to quiet down after 1 am or so.

Riker had his tricorder out as soon as they materialized. "Got it!" he exclaimed almost instantly. "There's a strong reading."

"Where?" Batman asked.

Riker turned around, sweeping the tricorder in a complete circle. "Looks like we're right on top of it."

"No," Batman said. "It's right on top of us."

"What?"

The man in black pointed straight up. The two were standing in the alley behind a high-rise building. Batman took out his night-vision goggles. He really couldn't see much of the upper stories of the building, but he could tell it was a residential building, not a business building.

"If it's Catwoman, she's up there, stealing something right now."

"And if it's one of the others?" Riker asked. He aimed the tricorder at the top of the building and confirmed that the reading was coming from the top floor.

"Then they must be living here."

"So how do we get up there?" Riker asked. He started to walk away, thinking of finding an entrance to the building.

"Stop," Batman commanded.

"Now look here..." Riker started to say. Before he could continue, Batman pulled some sort of gun from under his cape and fired it straight up. A grappling hook shot up to the top floor, trailing a thin, but strong line after it.

Without asking for Riker's permission, Batman reached out and grabbed the Starfleet officer around the chest. Holding the grapple with his other hand, Batman pressed the retract trigger.

The two men leapt into the sky, pulled by the retracting grapple line. Before he knew it, Riker found himself on a balcony 15 stories above a city. Far in the distance, he could see water. They were somewhere near an ocean.

"What the...!" Riker started to say, recovering his voice, but Batman clamped his gloved hand over the Commander's mouth. The dark knight held his finger over his lips to tell Riker to be quiet.

Reluctantly, Riker accepted the vigilante's command. If nothing else, the guy seemed to know what he was doing. Riker had never seen anything like their ascent up the building. Even the Starfleet Marines would be hard pressed to gain entry to a building with that ease.

Batman immediately took in their surroundings and realized that the balcony door was propped open. He motioned to Riker that they were going in. Riker pulled out a phaser. Batman squeezed the officer's wrist and growled, "No guns."

Riker had just about had enough. "Now look here, you ..."

Just then, they heard the sound of a fight from inside. Batman let go of Riker's wrist and slipped quickly into the penthouse suite.

The sound was coming from down the hall. Without hesitation, Batman headed toward the sound of the fight.

"Look, Mary, or whatever your name is, I can't allow you to do this," Thomas Magnum said. "Now, stop, or I'll shoot." He raised his .45 caliber service pistol and reluctantly pointed it in the general direction of the woman.

On the other side of the room, Catwoman stood defiant. She had the jade tiger in one gloved hand and a leather whip in the other.

"Mary, please, put the statue down and we'll talk about it. If you're in some sort of trouble, I can help."

"I don't think so," Catwoman said.

"Mary, please," Thomas pleaded.

"Her name's not Mary," a voice came out of the dark. "Is it, Selina?"

"Damn," Catwoman hissed.

Two men in black stepped out of the dark hallway. One was covered in a black cape, the other was in a form-fitting black and red jumpsuit. Thomas kept his gun raised. The men had surprised him, but he had enough experience in combat to know not to lose his cool. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Batman," the man in the cape said. "And Catwoman is coming with us!"

"Selina? Catwoman?" Thomas said. "Mary, what the hell is this all about?"

"My name's not Mary, you idiot," Catwoman yelled. She lashed out with the whip; it caught Thomas' hand and he dropped the gun. As Catwoman was occupied with the whip, Batman leapt forward and pinned the woman. He grabbed the jade tiger statue from her hand and tossed it onto the floor. The statue belonged in this universe, and it couldn't come back to the Enterprise.

Riker stepped forward and put his hand out to touch Batman's shoulder. He pressed the recall button. A second later, the three vanished.

"What the?!?" Thomas said. He stood here, dumbfounded for several minutes. He eventually stepped forward and picked up the jade tiger and then a moment later, he reached down for his gun. As he did so, he felt the stinging of the whip burn on his wrist. If not for that evidence, he'd have convinced himself that the whole thing had been some sort of hallucination.

* * *

### From the Journal of Thomas Magnum:

Some of my cases turn out okay. Some turn out, well, ...uh, ...not so okay.

I'm not sure how to categorize this one.

On the one hand, Mrs. Tulving didn't lose her prized jade tiger. And Icepick gave Rick a lead that I was able to use to find the crooked pawn dealer that was fencing Mary's, ur, Selina's stolen goods. The police were able to return everything to their rightful owners.

And, apparently anyway, Selina went home. The two guys I saw, or thought I saw, were as strangely dressed as she had been. They arrived, and departed, as strangely as she'd arrived. Not exactly dropping into my lap as she had, but I think disappearing right in front of my eyes qualifies as 'strange'.

But I've got this feeling. My little voice is still saying something, but I don't know quite what it is. All I know is something still isn't right.

I just hope where ever she is, Mary or Selina or whatever her name is, finds what she's looking for.

* * *


	17. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 17

Catwoman stopped struggling with Batman as the entire world faded away. She was surprised when an entirely different world faded back in. Her eyes took a moment to adjust from the nearly pitch black penthouse suite to the brightness of the room she now found herself in.

The bearded fellow that had been with Batman stepped forward and spoke with a black man with funny eyes. Batman simply stood there, feeling superior as always. "Where are we?" she asked.

"It's a long story, Selina," he said.

She'd never known him to use her real name before. At least not when addressing her directly. Now, he'd done it twice in the last couple minutes. Something must really be wrong, Catwoman thought.

Just then, several other people came into the room. The man in the lead was bald and older, and his body language clearly told Catwoman that he was in charge here. With him were two women. One was wearing a coat, sort of like what doctors wear, but in blue instead of white. The other woman watched her intently. Catwoman felt uncomfortable being the center of attention.

Batman finally let go of her and walked down from the platform they'd appeared on. "Captain Picard," he said, "I'd suggest you assign a security detail to watch her."

The bald man seemingly ignored Batman and instead walked forward, closer to where Catwoman still stood. "I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard," he said. "Welcome to the Enterprise. It's going to take a little while to bring you up to date on where you are and why, but trust me, you will not be harmed in any way and we'll do everything we can to get you home safely."

"Where am I?" she asked, again.

"We're about 400 years in the future," Batman said. "The Lion's Soul gemstone you stole had some sort of strange power," he explained. "It scattered us to different points in time." He settled for the simple explanation for now.

"So that's why I was stuck in the early 80's, huh?"

"Yes," Batman said.

"So, Captain, was it? Who are all the rest of these people?"

Captain Picard made the introductions. "You know Batman of course. The other man that retrieved you was Commander William Riker, my second in command."

The bearded man smiled at her. Now, in the light, she could see that he was actually a very handsome man. She smiled back.

Oh, great, Picard thought. Riker's starting in already and she hasn't even been onboard for two minutes. "And this is Dr. Crusher, my chief medical officer, and Deanna Troi, our ship's counselor. And Commander La Forge, our engineer."

"We're on some sort of ship?"

"It's a space ship, Selina," Batman said. "We're hundreds of light years from Earth right now."

"How is that possible?" Catwoman asked, overwhelmed by everything she heard. She held her head in her hands and shook her head.

Counselor Troi and Dr. Crusher moved to the woman. "It's okay. We'll explain everything in due time," Crusher said. "Right now, I want to do a quick scan..."

"You're not probing me!" Catwoman said. "I know what you aliens do to abductees!"

Batman shook his head, embarrassed. He wouldn't have thought Selina was one of those people that believed in UFOs and alien abductions. "They're not aliens," he said. "Well, at least not these five..."

Catwoman marveled that something could actually make Batman speechless. He didn't talk a lot, but when he did, it was always with authority and never with the least bit of hesitation.

"Please, Selina," the doctor said, "I'm not going to 'probe' you or anyone else. This is just a medical tricorder. It reads your blood pressure, heart rate, those sorts of things. I don't even have to touch you with it."

"Really, it's quite safe," Troi said. "And we need to assure that you're okay after your trip through time."

Catwoman was still confused, and didn't put up too much fuss. The redheaded doctor waved the scanner gizmo in front of her and that was it.

"Doctor?" Picard asked.

"She's got a slight amount of cellular deterioration, but not bad. I am picking up evidence of a recent head injury, though. I'll want to watch her closely, but I think she'll be okay after a few day's rest. You come to me if you see any symptoms, okay?"

All Catwoman could think about was what the doctor had first said. "Cellular deterioration?" Catwoman asked.

Batman explained, "The effects of time travel. It affects all of us."

Catwoman pulled off her cowl and ran her hand through her thick black hair. It was a nervous gesture.

"Catwoman," Picard said, "Miss Kyle, Batman here has said that you are a criminal. However, since you have no criminal record here in the Federation, I'm going to trust you to remain on your best behavior."

"How do you know my name?" she asked, indignant. She looked at Batman with hate in her eyes. "Of course," she spit out. "And did he bother telling you *his* name?"

Picard continued, "We need your assistance to complete our mission. We'll fill you in later, after we settle you into your own quarters and let you rest or eat, or whatever. Perhaps some new clothes," he pointed at her tattered costume. Her unintentional swim in the ocean had pretty much ruined the leather in the boots and gloves and there were several places where the seams had begun to rip out. "But I need your assurance that you'll behave yourself."

"Don't talk to me like a child, old man," Catwoman snarled. "I could break you in two."

Both Geordi and Riker tensed, ready to pull the woman off the Captain should she attack. Batman was at the ready as well, but not as obviously as the others.

"We do have a well equipped brig, if necessary," Picard said, ignoring the threat. "And I'm sure Batman will be keeping his eye on you," he said, smiling. It was a wicked little smile. "Do you understand?"

Seeing that she was outnumbered, Catwoman accepted the conditions. For now. "Yes," Catwoman spit out the word.

"Number One, please escort Miss Kyle to her quarters and see to her immediate needs," Picard commanded. Picard would have preferred someone else, but it was the first officer's duty. And he needed Crusher and Troi here. And Riker was strong enough to take care of himself. Although he didn't actually believe Miss Kyle's threat against himself, Picard was concerned that she was probably physically more than the match for his counselor and doctor.

"Yes, Captain," Riker said, a sly smile on his mouth.

"Will?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Met me in my ready room as soon as you're done," Picard said.

"Understood, sir." The smile disappeared from Riker's face.

As Riker lead Catwoman from the room, Picard turned back to Counselor Troi. He waited for the doors to slide shut and then he asked, "Counselor, your impressions?"

"She's scared."

"That was obvious," Picard said.

"And she hates authority, and therefore you," Troi continued.

"And that, likewise, was obvious," Picard said. "Is she trustworthy? Will she behave? Or is it like Batman claims."

"She's confused right now. That was the overwhelming sense that I got from her. But she respects Batman. I think she'll do whatever he asks."

"You must be wrong, Counselor," Batman said. "Selina Kyle is a unrepentant thief. She has no respect for me or the law."

"Oh, but I think she does," Troi said, standing up to the tall dark man. "You don't have a clue do you?"

"A clue? About what?"

Troi laughed. "She loves you. That was very obvious."

Batman held up his left arm, showing her the gauntlet. "Do you see these scratches?"

Troi nodded.

"That's from where she tried to scratch out my eyes," Batman told her. "Does that seem like the action of a woman in love?" He mimicked covering his face with the gauntlet.

Troi simply smiled, "You've never seen a Klingon in heat, have you?"

Batman simply stared at the woman. What is it with these people and their fascination with Klingons? he asked himself.

"Nevertheless," Troi continued, "She does love you. I don't know about you, but for her, the antagonism between you two is just a form of courting ritual. A way of teasing, flirting, if you will."

* * *

### Ancient Greece

Clark Kent stretched as he awoke. He'd only slept a couple of hours, but he awoke refreshed. To his Kryptonian physiology, sleep was more a psychological need than a physical one.

He saw Hercules was already awake. There was a small fire already made and the Greek hero was heating up some gruel for breakfast.

Clark looked around and saw that Xena and Gabrielle were still asleep, as was Iolaus. He stood and walked over to where Hercules sat in front of the fire. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," Hercules said.

The group had camped out last night. They were on the road from Larissa to the point where Hercules claimed there was an entry point into Olympus. Clark would have thought that the man's claims were ludicrous, but he'd heard too many of Diana's stories and seen too much in his career as Superman. Hard was it was for the farmboy from Kansas to accept, the Greek and Roman Gods were real.

"We're almost there?" Clark asked.

"Yes," Hercules said. "Less than half a day's walk."

Hercules had explained the situation a couple days before. He said that his evil half brother, Ares, the god of war, was attempting to unseat Zeus as the king of the gods. Apparently, Ares had obtained something that could kill even the king of the gods. It was up to Hercules to stop him.

And since having the god of war on the throne of Olympus would result in endless war and suffering on Earth, the rest of the group were just as opposed to Ares' plans as Hercules was.

It's funny how everyone has their nemesis, Clark thought. I have Luthor, Bruce has the Joker, and Hercules has Ares. He wondered if any hero existed anywhere that didn't have their one unique nemesis?

Several hours later, everyone was awake and the group was approaching a hilly portion of the foothills around Mount Olympus. Hercules had explained that the mountain men called Olympus was real, and that the realm of the gods co-existed with the mountain, but on a different dimensional plane.

The group had gotten cautious as they got closer. He didn't say anything, but it was obvious that Hercules was expecting some sort of ambush or confrontation.

They soon entered a clearing. On the far side of the clearing was the entrance to a cave. It didn't look special in any way. There were small caves all over these foothills.

"There it is," Hercules said.

"Doesn't look like much," Gabrielle said. "I was expecting some a bit more ... opulent, I guess."

"Don't let the appearance fool you," Hercules said. He knew that true gods needed only to transport themselves to Olympus. But this simple cave was the only naturally occurring link between Olympus and the mortal plane.

"That's right, Gabrielle," Xena said. "Aren't you the one that always says to not judge the scroll by the ribbon it's tied with?"

"So, what do we do, Hercules?" Iolaus asked.

"We enter the cave," Hercules said.

Just then, a flash of light appeared and as it disappeared, a man stood before them. He was dressed in black leathers, with a sharp little beard running from temple to temple, and across his cheeks and chin. "Well, little brother," the man said. "You expect to interrupt my plans?"

"I do, Ares," Hercules declared.

"I don't think so," Ares said. "I knew you'd come here. So I took a precaution this time."

"And what was that?" Iolaus asked.

Ares walked forward and stood in front of Xena. "Hello, Xena. It's so good to see you again?"

"Hello, Ares," the warrior woman practically spit out the man's name. All the muscles in her body were tense. She wanted nothing more than to run her sword through the man, but she knew that her steel was no match for the god.

"When I'm king of the gods, I'll be back for you. You'll make a wonderful queen."

"In your dreams," Xena said.

"You bet!" Ares said. "Every night," he teased, a slimy smile on his face. He leered at the dark-haired warrior woman.

Getting no reaction from Xena, Ares finally turned and confronted his brother. The two men stood toe to toe and stared at each other.

"You won't succeed, Ares," Hercules said.

"Oh, but I will," Ares said. "You're the only one that even has a prayer of stopping me. But to do that, you have to get into Olympus. And the only way for you, a simple little half god, is through that portal." He pointed to the cave. "And you can't walk through that cave."

"Sure he can," Iolaus said, defending his friend.

"Oh, but he can't," Ares bragged. "And nor can any of the rest of you."

"Why not?" Xena asked.

"I've placed an enchantment on the cave. No one, male or female, that was born of a *mortal* woman, can *walk* through *that* entrance. All of you are stuck here." At that he laughed and disappeared in flash.

The group stood looking at the cave entrance for a long time.

"Damn him to Hades," Xena finally said. She threw her sword down in anger and began pacing.

"Looks like he's beat us this time," Gabrielle said.

"I hate to admit it," Hercules said, "But you might be right."

"No."

"What?" Hercules said.

"I said, no he hasn't," Clark said.

"You know something we don't?"

"Yes, I do," Clark said, smiling. "Remember what he said. How he emphasized certain words."

"He said none of us could walk through the cave entrance," Gabrielle said.

"No," Clark said. "He said no one that was born of a *mortal* woman could *walk* through the entrance."

"Yeah, and that means all of us," Iolaus said.

"It doesn't mean me," Clark said. "I wasn't born of a mortal woman."

"I knew it!" Xena said. "You're a demon for sure." She snatched up her sword and headed for Clark. Hercules held up his hand and stopped her.

"No, I'm not a demon," Clark said. "It would take too long to explain." How could he explain to these people that he was an alien and had been born from a Kryptonian birthing chamber and not from his mother's womb? These people didn't even have knowledge that other planets existed, let alone other civilizations and other peoples.

"I don't know what you are," Hercules said. "But if you were a demon, Ares would have sensed it. He pretty much ignored you."

Clark smiled again. "And I don't have to *walk* either."

With that, he levitated into the air and flew toward the entrance of the cave.

Due to his Kryptonian physiology, Clark was practically indestructible, but he was vulnerable to magic. He didn't know what would happen when he entered the entrance of the cave. But as Superman, he'd been around Dr. Fate and Zatanna enough to know that magic was usually very dependent upon the specific words used. He hoped that Ares' magic was as literal as the god of war had said.

He encountered no resistance at all when he entered the cave. The entrance of the cave was maybe 15 feet across and it lead deep into the mountain. About fifty feet or so inside, it opened into a small cavern. And beyond the cavern, the cave continued into the mountain. A dim light came from the interior.

Clark landed on the floor of the cavern and looked around. It was just a plain old cave, as near as he could tell.

What else was it that Ares had said? Clark asked himself. "No one, male or female, that was born of a *mortal* woman, can *walk* through *that* entrance." Ah, Clark said to himself. "*That* entrance," he said softly. Ares hadn't said anything about any other entrance.

Clark turned about 45 degrees from the entrance and flew forward as hard and fast as he could. He held his clenched fists ahead of him as he slammed into the wall of the cave.

The limestone rock shattered at the impact. Clark backed up, and repeated the process several times. Eventually, he broke through the fifty or sixty feet of stone required to form another entrance to the cave.

Hercules and his friends stared in amazement as Clark exited from his hastily made entrance and flew back to them. Clark's shirt was pretty much torn to shreds from the sharp limestone chips he'd created. He pulled the few remaining cloth scrapes from around his shoulders.

"Ares said you couldn't enter through *that* entrance," Clark said, pointing to the natural opening of the cave. "He didn't say anything about *my* entrance."

"Well, everyone, you heard the man," Hercules said, smiling. "Let's go." And he headed to Clark's new entrance.

The group easily entered the cave and continued on down into the depths, toward the light. Even though they were deep within the mountain, somehow, the light was coming from the air. They walked out onto a plateau high above the clouds. Clear blue sky shone above them, but there was no sun. The entire sky just seemed to glow.

"Welcome to Olympus," Hercules said.

He hurried off to the major building before them.

The buildings were of gleaming stone, that shined almost as bright as the sky. The group followed Hercules.

Inside the building, they found Ares standing over a helpless and barely conscious Zeus. Behind them, laid Hera, the queen of the gods, unconscious. The god of war held a black dagger in his hand and was about the plunge the dagger into this father's chest.

Behind Ares stood Callisto, Ares' companion and the current goddess of chaos.

"Ares!" Hercules bellowed as he ran into the room.

Startled, Ares turned and Zeus weakly crawled away.

"Damn you, brother. I don't know how your retched group got here, but I swear you'll pay for your troubles with your deaths," Ares said. He gestured and a bolt of energy flew from his hand and struck Hercules in the chest.

The big guy went down, but wasn't out. He dug his hands into the marble floor and pulled up a block of the flooring. Hercules threw the marble at his half-brother and struck the god in black. Ares fell back, but was likewise not hurt.

Xena ran forward and confronted Callisto. The two fought with a ferocity that equaled or even surpassed that of the men.

Unable to fight, Gabrielle ran forward to help Zeus and Hera. Iolaus tried to help Hercules get up. Hercules was finally able to shake off this half-brother's attack.

"You won't win, Ares, you never do," Hercules said.

Ares dusted himself off. The marble had shattered when it had hit him. "I will this time, little brother. Hephaestus himself forged this dagger. It can kill any god; nothing short of direct sunlight can affect it. And there isn't any sun here in Olympus. I'll use it to kill you and then I'll kill our father. And then I'll be the king of the gods."

Hercules knew about the dagger. He couldn't advance and take on Ares directly. That would put him in Ares' reach. Even a scratch from the dagger would kill. If only there was some way to get the sunlight here, Hercules thought.

"Uh, Ares?" Clark asked.

"Sunlight affects the dagger?"

"That's what I said, you simpleton," Ares yelled. "I say, brother, your companions get more stupid every day. And I didn't think you could have anyone worse that Iolaus."

"Clark, the dagger was forged by the blacksmith of the gods, Hephaestus. It's a metal that can only be softened by sunlight. Nothing else will affect it."

"Thanks, Herc," Clark said. "Let's see if that's true."

"What do you mean?" Hercules asked.

Clark didn't answer, but he turned to Ares and unleashed his heat vision toward the god of war and the dagger. Since his body stored sunlight, Clark thought perhaps his heat vision, being a form of sunlight, would do the trick.

Ares screamed in pain. The dagger began to glow with the heat of Clark's super heat vision.

Callisto saw that her benefactor was in trouble and decided to leave. She disappeared in a flash, just as Xena swung her sword. Xena spun completely around from the inertia of the blow. It left the warrior woman frustrated.

Clark continued his assault. The dagger continued to glow brighter and brighter. Eventually, it began to sag and melt. Bright drops of molten metal dripped from the point of the dagger. Ares continued to scream in pain and in frustration over his default.

Zeus, leaning on Gabrielle, said "Enough, Ares. You are banished from Olympus." And with a wave of his hand, the king of the gods removed his errant son from the realm with a flash of light. The dagger remained behind and fell to the floor in a puddle of half-molten metal.

Clark stopped his heat vision. He took a deep breath; the continued assault had taken a lot out of him. And with no sunlight here to recharge his body, he felt weak.

"I told you he was a demon," Xena said, eyeing Clark.

"No," Zeus said. "He is a hero of Olympus on this day. And a hero of his world in his own time." The king of the gods obviously knew more than he was willing to speak.

* * *

### USS Enterprise, in the Beta Quadrant

"Is our latest guest comfortable?"

"Yes, Captain," Riker said.

"Good." Picard paused, unsure how to raise the issue. "Will, I realize she's a very attractive woman. Try to keep your distance."

"Sir?"

"This mission is too important. I need you focused on the mission, not on your libido."

"Yes, sir!" Riker said. It was obvious that Picard was embarrassed by the need to discuss the topic. Riker took a perverse joy in making his captain uncomfortable.

"Very good," Picard said. He quickly moved on the next topic, "I understand from Data that the temporal anomaly has shrunk in size and the disruptions throughout the Federation continue, but have slowed in frequency. It appears the Vulcans were correct. As we remove these individuals from the various points in time and various universes, the effects are reversing themselves. We need to continue our efforts. Step them up, if possible."

"Understood," Riker said. "Dr. Crusher indicates that Batman seems to be resistant to the cellular deterioration. She is theorizing that there may be something about his proximity to the gemstone at the time of the incident that is protecting him. If so, perhaps the other individuals are also resistant."

"Are you suggesting we send this Catwoman on the next mission?"

"Yes," Riker said. "Batman can keep her in line. And Dr. Crusher has already moved you and Lieutenant Dax off the mission list. She's concerned about the effects the cellular deterioration has on the symbiont. And at least half of the command crew of both ships only have one more mission based on the doctor's criteria."

Picard pondered the situation for a moment.

"What is your impression of Batman? How did the mission go?"

Riker laughed. "He's arrogant and bossy," the first officer said. "But he's also the best commando I've seen. He'd give Worf a run for his money in any combat situation. His major failing is that he doesn't communicate what his intentions are. But given what Stark has told us about what these costumed vigilantes do, that also gives him a tremendous edge."

"You probably won't believe it, Jean-Luc, but he was able to ascend a 15-story building in just under a minute with that grapple of his. And that was while carrying me," Riker said.

"Carrying you?"

"He just fired the grapple and grabbed me. I didn't have a chance to agree or disagree."

Picard shook his head, "Beverly said he was strong. You may be right. I'm glad Benjamin made Mr. Worf stay back at DS9. I'd hate to think what would happen if the two of them butted heads."

Riker smiled, "And knowing our Mr. Worf, they probably would. Literally."

For the first time since the mission began, Picard smiled also.

* * *

Batman stood in front of the door to Catwoman's cabin. He still didn't exactly believe Counselor Troi's accusations. But he had to admit to himself that he knew little about what drove woman. He'd spent his entire life preparing to fight crime, he'd never had much real experience with woman. Granted, as Bruce Wayne, he had a reputation as a playboy, but truthfully, most of those women were motivated as much by his money as by anything else.

He pressed the announcer button. A moment later, Selina Kyle came to the door.

"What do you want?" she said. She was now wearing a Starfleet issued jumpsuit. She'd selected a dark red jumpsuit and it contrasted nicely with her black hair and her green eyes.

"I wanted to debrief you. I thought you'd rather talk to me than the 'aliens'."

"Are they really aliens?"

"No. Well, some of them are. They are representatives of a Federation of Planets, sort of a galactic United Nations. There are aliens, but all of the ones I've met so far look basically human."

"Well, I do have a bunch of questions," Selina said. "I guess you might be able to answer some of them."

"Let's go to Ten-Forward," Batman suggested.

"What's that?"

"A lounge at the front of the ship. You might enjoy the view."

Selina followed Batman through the ship's corridors. They passed a few Starfleet crew in the corridors. "This is a really big ship," she commented.

"They tell me that there are over a thousand people aboard."

They passed another couple of the Starfleet crew. Selina was surprised that the crew didn't give Batman a second glance. "You don't seem to scare anyone here," she noted.

"These people are the best of their kind. They are professional soldiers and explorers. They've probably seen things that would even scare Superman."

"Speaking of which," Selina said, "I finally figured it out. That was him, wasn't it. Back in New York. I still have bruises." She rubbed her arm. "It couldn't have been anyone else. Only two men in the world can move that fast. And that wasn't the Flash. Ergo, it was Superman."

Batman didn't say anything, but Selina took his silence as acknowledgement that she was right. If she'd been wrong, surely he'd have told her how wrong she was. He liked doing that. Every time they encountered each other, he was always so disapproving.

They arrived at Ten-Forward. He had been right, Selina was impressed by the view. She walked straight to the window and stood there for several minutes, mesmerized like a child standing in the window of a toy store.

Eventually, she broke herself from the window and joined Batman at the table he'd selected.

"Wow," she said. "I never realized..."

"They have the ability to travel all over the galaxy. This Federation of theirs has hundreds of populated worlds in it."

"Was that another ship I saw out there?"

"Yes, there are two ships here to research this problem."

"What problem?" Selina asked.

"There's some sort of time displacement occurring. It's what throw us out of New York. It's causing problems throughout the universe." He was still trying to keep this on as simple a level as possible. Let her get her mind around one universe at a time, he thought. And time travel was enough to give anyone a headache. Let along traveling through time and across universes at the same time.

"Where were you?" she asked. Selina frowned for a moment. She put her hand on her forehead and rubbed her temple.

"Are you okay?"

"Just a little headache. So where were you?"

Inwardly, he smiled. There's that time travel headache already, Batman thought. "Los Angeles. When it was still little more than a Spanish mission."

"Cool!"

Just then, some of the Defiant crew came into Ten-Forward. The Defiant was strictly a fighting vessel, with few amenities for the crew.

Batman watched the group. Lieutenant Dax was with Sisko's second in command, Kira, he thought her name was, and the doctor from the Defiant. Dax was holding hands with the doctor; apparently he was the boyfriend she'd mentioned. Ezri saw Batman and waved, trying to catch his eye. She pulled the man she was with over to Batman's table. The other woman followed.

"Batman," Ezri said. "This is Colonel Kira Neyres and Dr. Julian Bashir," she introduced the other two officers.

"And this is Selina Kyle."

"Hi," Selina said. The look on her face showed that she was obviously glad to talk to someone besides Batman. "Please Ezri, Doctor, Colonel Neyres, have a seat."

"That's Colonel Kira, Miss Kyle. Bajorians have their family names first."

"I apologize. Colonel Kira," she said, extending her hand. Selina saw the strange tattoos on Dax's face and the little bumps on the other woman's nose. "Are you aliens?" she asked.

Bashir laughed. "I'm not," he said. "But these two are."

"Really?" Selina said.

"Yes," Kira said. "I'm from Bajor, and Ezri here is from Trill."

"Wow," Selina said. "Real aliens...who would have thought?"

"Need I remind you that several of the JLA are not from Earth?" Batman said.

Just like him to point out the obvious, she thought. "Oh, those fuddy duddies," Selina said with a sneer. "But this is different. Spaceships, stars, neat stuff just like on Futurama or the Jetsons."

Bashir had a tricorder with him and he was quietly taking readings of Batman.

"What are you doing?" Selina asked. "What is that thing?"

"It's a tricorder. It allows me to take medical readings."

"Oh, yeah, the woman doctor scanned me when I came on board," Selina said. "Can you use it to find Batman's sense of humor? I think he lost it years ago."

Ezri chuckled, but Kira frowned. Being a Bajorian, she didn't like it when anyone made fun of anyone else. She remembered the insults and jokes trust upon her and her fellow Bajorians during the Cardassian occupation.

"Exactly what are you scanning?" Batman asked, staring intently at the young doctor.

Bashir stammered, obviously intimidated, "Uh, you," he said.

"Why?"

"Well, um, Dr. Crusher was commenting about your physical condition," Bashir explained, "I just wanted to compare your readings with my own."

"Yours?"

"Well, yes," Bashir swallowed hard. "You...um, you see, I was genetically enhanced as a child. Sort of changed into the peak of human physiology, as it were. Dr. Crusher said you were the most perfect human specimen she'd ever seen, and well, I just wondered how humans compared between our universe and yours."

"What do you mean, 'your universe'?" Selina asked.

"We passed through dimensions as well as time," Batman explained. "This is actually a different universe as well as 400 years in the future."

"If this isn't even our universe and you don't even know these people, why are you still wearing your costume," Selina asked.

"Because you're still here. And when we get back home, I don't want you knowing more than you need to."

"But I already know something better than who you really are." Selina smiled smugly. "I recognized the woman that Superman was with. I saw the two of them kissing before I ran out of the alley. I know Superman's real name..."

"Careful, Selina," Batman growled, "Remember, curiosity killed the cat."

Riker came in to Ten-Forward and walked straight to the table where Batman and the rest were seated. "Ah, Batman, Selina, I've been looking for you both."

"Yes?"

"Dr. Crusher says you and Selina have the least cellular deterioration. We'd like you two to go on the next mission," he explained.

"'Cellular deterioration'?" Selina asked, indignant. "What else haven't you told me?"

"It's what Dr. Crusher was scanning you for when we arrived. The interaction between universes causes some cellular damage."

"And why didn't you tell me?" Selina rubbed her temples again, her headache was getting worse. But then, Batman had that effect on her.

"I would have," Batman said. "I told you I had to debrief you."

"What else?" Selina demanded. "Right now, tell me right now, everything else."

Riker spoke up first, "Miss Kyle, we have to retrieve the rest of the people before the temporal fluctuations cause major problems in this universe and yours. After retrieving Tony Stark, you, and Batman, the problem has been reduced, but we have three additional people to find. The process of going into each universe creates cellular deterioration in all of us. You and Batman have the least amount of cellular damage. So we'd like to send you both."

Selina sat in silence trying to absorb everything Riker had said. She finally spoke up, "See, what it that hard?" She stared at Batman. "Thank you," she told Riker.

"When do we leave?" Batman asked.

"As soon as possible."

* * *

Batman and Catwoman dematerialized from the Enterprise transporter room and rematerialized in a dense forest. Commander Riker had helped Selina recreate her costume.

Batman had one of those tricorder things and was scanning. Catwoman looked around. She felt slightly uneasy; she'd grown up in the city and wasn't used to the great outdoors.

"There's a reading," he said. "This way," he pointed and started to walk.

They walked through the forest for several minutes before reaching a small clearing. There was a stone outcropping at one side of the clearing and a cave entrance sat in the outcropping. About 15 yards away, was another opening in the stone, apparently blasted out with explosives.

"Where's the reading from?" Catwoman asked.

Batman pointed inside the blasted out opening. "But it's moving closer," he said.

They waited for only a minute and five people walked out of the opening. One of them was a shirtless Superman.

"Batman," he exclaimed.

"Hello, *Superman*." Batman intentionally emphasized his name.

Superman looked suspiciously at Catwoman. "Were the both of you thrown here too?"

"No," Batman said. "But we have a way home. It's kind of hard to explain." He looked around at the other people. There were two men and two women. The tricorder showed them as being native to this universe.

"These are my friends," Superman said. "They only speak Greek, I'm afraid. This is Hercules and his friend Iolaus and this is Xena and Gabrielle," he motioned to each in turn.

"Hello," Batman said in Greek. "I'm Batman and this is Catwoman. We're here to help Superman get back home."

"Superman?" Gabrielle said, "But I thought his name was Clark?"

"Clark. That's what I thought," Catwoman said, in Greek.

"You speak Greek?" Batman asked, surprised.

"Of course," Catwoman said. "Who do you think buys all the stuff I steal? Usually some rich Greek dude."

"Thank you, Clark," Hercules said. "We couldn't have defeated Ares without you."

"I was glad to help, Hercules."

"Fare well," Iolaus said.

"Yes, fare well on your voyage," Gabrielle said.

They all turned to see what Xena would say. "I still say you're some sort of demon," Xena said. "But one of the bravest and must selfless demons I've ever met."

Superman walked over to the warrior woman and clasped her on her shoulder, "Thank you, Xena. Coming from you, that means a lot."

"Fare well, friends," Superman said. He then walked off with Batman and Catwoman following.

A few minutes later, the trio were out of the clearing and into the forest. "We have problems," Batman said, switching back to English.

"I assumed as much," Superman said, looking at Catwoman.

"Besides her," Batman said. "The universe is collapsing. Actually there are more than one and they're all in danger."

"What can we do?" Superman said.

"Well, we've hooked up with a group that's trying to fix the problem. We all got thrown into different times and different universes. You, me, Catwoman, Bond, and your wife. Somehow, each of us in different universes, where we don't belong, is causing a temporal anomaly that threatens everything. As they've found Catwoman and I, things have begun to repair themselves. But we still have to find Bond and Lois."

"How did she figure out who I am?"

"You boys can stop talking like I'm not even here," Catwoman snarled. "I recognized your wife. Everyone that reads a newspaper knows who Lois Lane is. Lois Lane-*Kent*, that is."

Batman and Superman both looked at the cat burglar.

"What?" she said. "Surprised that I can read? It took me a little bit to realize who you really were though, but after seeing how fast you grabbed the gemstone when I dropped it and then feeling how strong you were, it wasn't hard to put two and two together." She rubbed her arm again.

"Does she know...?" Superman asked.

"No."

"What are we waiting for?" Catwoman asked. She snatched the recall device from Batman's hand and pressed the button. A second later, the three of them disappeared.

* * *


	18. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 18

### USS Enterprise, in the Beta Quadrant

Superman, Batman, and Catwoman appeared on the transporter platform. Chief O'Brien was still manning the transporter controls. "Ah, another one," O'Brien said. "The captain will be glad to hear that."

"Superman, this is Chief O'Brien," Batman explained. "This is the USS Enterprise. We're about 400 years in the future, but in a different universe."

O'Brien tapped his communicator. "Captain Picard to transporter room 3."

"Acknowledged," Picard's voice came from the communicator.

"This is quite a place," Superman said, looking around.

Batman assumed he could see things the rest of them couldn't.

"Oh," Catwoman said as she grabbed her head. She pulled off the cowl as if it were causing her pain.

"Are you okay, miss?" O'Brien asked.

"It's just a headache," Selina said.

A few minutes later Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher came into the transporter room. Picard instantly fixed on the bare-chested newcomer. As did Doctor Crusher.

"Ah, another recovery," Picard said.

Batman said, "You can call him Superman. He's a team mate of mine."

"Well, Mr. Superman, is it?"

Superman nodded.

"Welcome aboard the Enterprise. I'm Captain Picard. This is Doctor Crusher."

"Batman has told me a little about what's going on," Superman said. Four of us were thrown through time and across dimensions."

"Yes," Picard said. "And it apparently caused some sort of cosmic stress that threatens our universe, your universe, and any number of others."

"Understood," Superman said. "What can we do to fix this?"

Picard was impressed with the forthrightness of this newcomer.

"We're working on it. Our science experts tell us that returning all of you to your own universe will go a long way to repairing the damage. But to do that we have to find all of you. We still have one more to go."

Crusher had her tricorder out and began running it over Superman. "Jean-Luc, you won't believe these readings."

"What is this?" Superman asked.

"It's a medical tricorder," Doctor Crusher explained. "The interaction between your molecules and those of the universe you were in can cause cellular degeneration. I'm just checking to see how you fared from your trip through time and space."

"How'd I do?" Superman wondered.

"I can't tell. Your body is so infused with energy, it's creating too much interference for me to get a decent reading." She showed the tricorder to Captain Picard.

"Indeed," Picard said. He couldn't believe the readings on the tricorder's tiny screen. In some regards, this man standing before him was more powerful than the Enterprise.

"Awww," Selina moaned, slumping to the floor.

Batman and Superman both moved to support her. Doctor Crusher immediately began scanning the other woman.

"What's wrong, doctor?"

"One minute, Jean-Luc," Crusher said tersely. "Has she complained of anything?"

"Headaches," Batman said.

"Someone should have told me."

"Headaches are fairly common in our time," Batman said. "She must not have thought it was anything to worry about."

"Well, it is. She has a subarachnoid hemorrhage, a brain aneurysm. I'll have to operate immediately. Everyone stand back, please." Crusher tapped her communicator. "This is Doctor Crusher. I have a medical emergency. Two to transport to directly to sickbay."

The transporter beam slowly dissolved away both Doctor Crusher and her patient.

Picard tugged down the front of his uniform. It was a nervous habit of his. "Chief?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Can you see to assigning Superman quarters?"

"Aye, Captain."

Picard turned to his two guests. "We'll schedule a debriefing for 21 hundred hours."

"Of course, Captain," Batman said.

O'Brien lead Superman and Batman out of the transporter room. Picard followed a moment later.

* * *

Troi pressed her communicator. "Lieutenant Dax?" she said.

A moment passed. "Dax here."

"This is Counselor Troi. Lieutenant, can you come by my office?" Deanna asked.

"Yes," Dax said.

The young Trill came into Deanna's office a few moments later. "You wanted to see me, Counselor?"

"Yes," Troi said. She gestured to the other woman to sit down. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

"This isn't a counseling session, is it?" Ezri said. "I know Captain Sisko was worrying about how I've been integrating the memories from my previous hosts, but I really think I've done better."

"No, Ezri, it's nothing like that. Actually, I need your help with a counseling case."

"You need *my* help?" Ezri was surprised. She'd only been assigned officially as the counselor on DS9 a couple months ago and had only really had one case.

"Yes," Deanna said. She could sense the apprehension coming from the Trill.

"You seem to have developed a rapport with this individual; more than anyone else, at least," Deanna explained.

"I don't understand," Ezri said. "I haven't really interacted with the Enterprise crew..."

"It's not someone from the Enterprise," Deanna interrupted. "It's Batman."

"Batman?"

"Yes. I can sense his concern for Selina. But I can also sense that he's used to keeping issues tightly bottled up."

"And you think *I* can get him to talk?" Ezri said.

"Well," Deanna said. "You're really the only person he's said more than two words to since he got here. Outside of Superman, that is."

"We talked a little when I showed him his cabin. Well, I talked and he sort of listened. Compared to him, Worf is a regular conversationalist."

Deanna laughed. "Yes, I guess you're right."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned Worf, should I?"

"Why not?"

"Well, I know you two were dating for a while before he left the Enterprise. I thought maybe that it was still painful for you."

"No. Worf and I parted ways on very amicable terms," Deanna explained. "How is Worf? We didn't get much of a chance to talk before we left DS9. How is he handling Jadzia's death."

"Stoically," Ezri scowled. "Just like a good Klingon should." She paused to collect her thoughts. It's funny, she told herself, it's easier talking with Counselor Troi that I would have thought. I guess that's why she's such a good Counselor. "Actually, it was pretty rough for him, but he didn't want to admit it. Of course. I think he was just coming to grips with everything and then I was assigned to the station. At first, he didn't want to have anything to do with me. But we've worked through it and he's now a friend. He's the one that encouraged me to let Julian know how I felt."

"Good," Deanna said. "So what about taking a crack at 'the dark knight'?"

"I'll try," Ezri said, still unsure.

"If it doesn't work out, maybe try talking to Superman. They seem as different as night and day, but at least they share a common world."

"I'll do that."

* * *

Ezri stopped by Sick Bay first. Dr. Crusher was still operating on Selina. The duty nurse indicated that the surgery was going well, but she'd know more as soon as the doctor was done.

With that information, Ezri then sought out Batman. She found him in his quarters. She pressed the announcer button. It took a moment for the door to open. "Come in," came the gravely voice.

"Hello, it's me, Lieutenant Dax."

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Batman was seated at the small desk, using the computer terminal to record the events of he and Selina's "away mission." Actually, he was used to this sort of thing; he always kept dictation of his own nightly missions. Sometimes, when things were busy, he'd keep a running dialog from the car. Other times, he'd wait until returning to the cave. He didn't look up as she walked into the room.

"I just wanted to let you know that Dr. Crusher is still operating on Miss Kyle. But the nurse told me everything was going well."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Batman said, still concentrating on the computer terminal. A moment passed. "Was there something else?" he asked when Dax hadn't left.

"I was just thinking that you might like to talk."

"Why?"

"Well, you're far from home, your friend is in surgery, the universe is going to fall apart. I don't know. I just thought I'd offer. It is my job, you know."

"Yes. You're a counselor," Batman said. "I don't need to talk."

"Well, if you do, I just wanted to let you know that I'm available. Or if you'd be more comfortable with someone with more experience, Counselor Troi is a very good listener."

"No thank you, Lieutenant."

Ezri stood in place, hands on her hips. "You know, we're a lot alike," she said.

Batman finally turned away from the computer terminal and stared at the young Starfleet officer. "I don't think so," he said.

"I do," she said.

"You're a woman, you're from a different universe, and you're not even human. According to the computer information I've been reviewing, you even have a slug in your belly," Batman said. "There's no way we're alike."

"Well, aside from all that," Ezri said. Suddenly, she was beginning to doubt herself. He was so blunt, she thought. "Well, we're not alike in most ways, but we are alike in at least one way."

"Oh?"

"We're both like two people. I mean, I'm Ezri, but I'm also Dax. Two people. You're Batman. And I assume you have some other identity when the cape comes off, right? You're like two people also."

Batman didn't respond, but he also didn't disagree.

Ezri continued, "And we're both outcasts, right? Or at least feel that way. I know I feel that way. I mean, I didn't even want to be bonded with a symbiont. Didn't take the training, didn't plan on it ever happening. But it did. I'm sure you didn't plan on becoming Batman, did you? Something happened that forced you to. I don't know about you, but I don't quite feel like I belong anymore. I'm not like the other bonded Trills, but I do have the symbiont. And I'm not Jadzia, but I'm around all of her friends. It gets a little scary at times, you know? I'm not responsible for her death, but sometimes, when I'm around her friends, and I see the way they look at me, I feel guilty. I can imagine them saying, 'why did Jadzia die and why is Dax now in this little girl'. Do you ever feel guilty about anything?"

Batman didn't answer her. But he thought about it. Did he feel guilty? Yeah, he felt guilty. About a lot of stuff. He felt guilty about what the Joker did to Barbara Gordon, he felt guilty about what Two-Face did to Dick, he felt guilty about what the Joker did to Jason, he felt guilty about the way he treated Dick by having Jean-Paul fill in as Batman, he felt guilty about what the Joker did to Sarah Essen-Gordon, he felt guilty about the Joker, period. And, mostly, he felt guilty about his parents.

"Yes," he finally said. "Guilt is part of what makes us human." He thought about that. She wasn't human, but she felt guilty. He knew Clark felt guilty about certain things; he wasn't human either. "Maybe guilt is something that separates sentient beings from the animals."

"It is," Ezri said. "The Vulcans proved that scientifically."

"It's a shame we'll be leaving soon," he said. "I'd like to meet these Vulcans and Klingons everyone keeps talking about."

Ezri smiled. "They have had a large influence on the Federation."

"Yes. I've been studying your history," Batman said. "So much of your universe is like mine, but so much is different."

"Some things aren't so different," Ezri said. "The need to talk about things, for one."

"You just don't give up, do you?"

"Do you?"

No, Batman had to admit to himself. He thought for a minute. Perhaps she was right. It was hard to talk to Alfred. Between his own reluctance and Alfred's British reserve, there were some days the two barely said two words to each other. And with everyone, even Dick and Clark, Bruce felt the need to remain aloft. Part of the mystique of Batman was the aloofness.

"No, I don't," he finally told her.

"Well, I don't either."

"Why are you and Counselor Troi so interested in getting into my head?"

"We only want to help," Ezri said. "It's want we do. It's our duty as medical professionals. Is it really any different than you wanting to go on the away mission to find your friends? You felt that was your duty, right?"

"Was it duty that made you accept the symbiont, even when you didn't want to?"

"Yes."

Batman nodded. He could understand that. "Maybe we are more alike than I thought."

Ezri smiled. She felt that she'd finally broken through. "Do you feel guilty about Selina. Her getting hurt, that is?"

"No. That was an accident. She said she landed in some water when she arrived in that universe. She obviously injured herself then. And as I told Dr. Crusher, headaches are common where we come from. Especially when you're trying to work out things like time travel."

Ezri nodded. "That was one the hardest classes I had at the Academy," she said. "Temporal Mechanics 101. Thought I'd never make it through the semester."

"But you did?"

"Yeah. And you're right, it gave me a lot of headaches."

* * *

The briefing took place in the conference lounge at the rear of the bridge. Superman and Batman arrived together. Superman had changed into a slacks and knit shirt combo that came from the clothing replicator in his quarters.

Captain Picard, Commander Riker, and Commander La Forge already in the lounge. Introductions were made as the rest of the staff arrived; Doctor Crusher, Tony Stark and Counselor Troi, followed lastly by Commander Data. Stark was wearing his Iron Man armor, helmet in hand.

Commander Data carried a number of metal rods about three foot long.

"Mr. Stark, why are you wearing your armor?" Riker asked. "This is a briefing, not an away mission."

"Commander La Forge asked me to," Stark said.

"La Forge?" Picard asked.

"Actually, it was Data's idea," Geordi said.

Picard was getting impatient. "Mr. Data, please explain."

"Simply a test, sir. We already have a gauge of Mr. Stark's strength while wearing his armor. Batman indicated that Superman was, well, super strong. I thought a demonstration was in order."

Riker chuckled. "Data, I wouldn't have thought you to be the type to engage in a tree-pissing contest."

Deanna frowned. "A tree..."

"I'll explain it later," Crusher said, distaste in her voice.

"It's an old Earth term for a test of manhood," Picard said. "Data, is this really necessary?"

"Not really, sir. But simply as a measure of our allies strength, it might be useful. Similar to a review of the fleet," Data explained.

"Proceed," Picard said. "But quickly."

"These rods are tritanium." For the three guests, Data explained, "The primary alloy used in Starfleet ship construction."

The rods were only the width of a pencil. Data handed two rods to Batman. "Sir, you are, as Doctor Crusher has reminded us, a very strong human. Can you bend these?"

Before Batman had a chance to try, Riker motioned for Data to hand him a pair of the rods as well. The two men stood and tried their best to bend the rods. Neither could. They tried across their chests, behind the backs and over their knees. Any which way they tried, they simply couldn't budge the rods.

Counselor Troi finally reached over and took one of the rods away from Commander Riker. She was afraid he'd strain a muscle or something trying so hard.

Doctor Crusher rolled her eyes. "I can't believe the amount of testosterone that's in this room," she said wryly.

Commander Riker still couldn't budge even a single rod. Batman laid one rod on the table and was, with considerable effort, able to bend a single rod slightly.

Stark put on his helmet and let the armor power up fully. He held his hand out. Data held up his own hand and tried bending six of the rods. The room rung with the screeching of the metal rods against each other as they barely were bent. The android seemed dismayed afterward when he noticed the artificial skin was ripped from his fingers by the force of the effort.

Stark once again held out his hand and Data placed another six of the rods in Iron Man's hands. Stark easily bent the rods. Data was impressed, but Geordi was smiling his appreciation of the armor.

Data then handed Stark three thicker rods. "These gauge two rods are equal to four of the gauge one rods," he explained. "But easier to handle."

Stark once again bent the rods easily.

Geordi was nodding his approval. "That's the same as twelve of the smaller rods," he said. "Twice what you were able to barely bend, Data."

"Yes, Geordi, the Iron Man armor is very impressive," Data agreed.

Data pulled out one last rod, a bit thicker than the previous ones, perhaps six centimeters in diameter. "This is gauge three duranium-reinforced tritanium. This is, by Starfleet standards, about four times stronger than three of the gauge two tritanium rods."

Iron Man wasn't able to budge the rod. The room filled with the smell of ozone caused by the miniature electronic motors in the armor trying to move against the unmovable object. Stark finally gave up. He laid the rod down on the table and took off his helmet. He was sweating underneath. "That's got to be comparable to an alloy we have on my world called adamantium. It's considered virtually unbreakable."

During this whole demonstration, Superman had sat quietly, watching. He hated the fact that the show was simply a test of his strength; his natural modesty made him uncomfortable about taking part in such contests of manhood.

He remembered what it was like at Smallville High School. Once when he was about 16, he saw another boy get seriously hurt trying to bench press more than he could handle. The rest of the boys were challenging each other to lift a certain weight. Each would lift it and then they'd add more to the bar and each take turns. After seven or eight increases, the weight was up to nearly 250 pounds. One boy's elbow dislocated just as he'd lifted the weight was almost all the way up; the bar fell back on his chest and seriously bruised the his heart. Only Clark's quick thinking had saved the day. The other boys were petrified by the accident and no one stepped forward to help the injured boy. At first, Clark had assumed he just had an adrenaline rush that enabled him to lift the weight off the injured boy, but later realized it was one of the first instances of his super-strength manifesting itself.

"Captain Picard," he said. "I really don't see how this is useful."

Picard looked intently at this newest guest. "I'm inclined to agree with you. But given the short time frame we have to repair the temporal damage, and the scope of what's at risk, I'm willing to indulge Mr. Data's curiosity. We never know what challenges we have yet ahead of us. Your strength, indeed the strength of each of us, may be useful. If I understand the mission report Batman filed, your unique abilities have already saved the day in ancient Greece."

Superman nodded. "Very well, captain." He stood and took the thickest rod in his hands. He squeezed the rod as hard as he could. The metal barely gave, but it did give slightly. He relaxed his grip and flexed his fingers to make sure the grip he had on the rod was secure. Counselor Troi let out an audible gasp when she saw the finger marks on the rod.

The knit shirt Superman had obtained from the replicator bulged as he flexed. Had it been woven instead of knit, it probably would have burst. The room once again was filled with the unearthly squeal of metal stressed to it's limit by the bending. To a Starfleet officer, it was a sound they normally only heard during a fatal ship battle or warp drive failure. It was a sound no Starfleet captain wanted to hear. And it was a sound few Starfleet captains lived to hear more than once.

The bar bent easily as Superman flexed. He didn't have to leverage over his knee or across his neck and shoulders. He simply held the bar straight out and squeezed down and in with his hands.

All around the table were noticeably impressed. Except for Batman; he'd seen Clark do even more impressive feats.

Superman laid the bar down and took his seat.

"Thank you," Commander Data said. "I don't believe there has been any one in recorded Federation history comparable to you, Superman."

"Well, he is one of a kind," Batman said, dryly.

Picard pulled the front of this tunic down and shifted in his chair. It was a nervous habit the crew jokingly called "the Picard Maneuver." "Yes, well, uh, Dr. Crusher, perhaps you can give us an update on Miss Kyle?"

"Yes, Jean-Luc. We were able to successfully repair the damage caused by the aneurysm. There may be some slight memory loss, but otherwise she'll be up and about in a day or so."

"That's good news," Superman said. "As I understand it, we all have to be returned to our own universe. It would have been unfortunate if she'd have died before we were able to do so."

It was a thought no one else had wanted to voice, but which they all had thought.

"That would have been most unfortunate," Data said. "We can only speculate on the impact a death of one of the displaced individuals would have. The next time I communicate with the Vulcan Science Academy, I will postulate that question as a hypothetical scenario."

"Thank you, Mr. Data," Picard said. "Our next order of business is to schedule the next away mission. I'd like to retrieve Mr. Bond as soon as we can."

"As would we all," Riker said. "We'll be sending the next team within the hour."

"Very well, Number One. Keep me posted."

* * *

Superman and Batman immediately volunteered for the next away mission. They were in the transporter room waiting as Picard and Crusher came in. Superman had changed into a replicated duplicate of his costume, minus the cape, red trunks and yellow belt. The suit hugged his figure enough to avoid any damage--his unique aura would protect the costume. He left off the cape and trunks for fear of accidentally leaving any of this universe's material in another universe and compounding their existing problems.

Picard said, "We've asked Mr. Stark to go on this mission. He'll be here in a moment."

Crusher looked at Batman and said, "You've begun to accumulate some of the cellular deterioration. You're still handling it better than the rest of us, but after what happened with Selina, I'd rather not take any changes. Stark's armor seems to shield him. And as for you," she turned to Superman, "I can only assume that you're durable enough that it won't be a problem. I've got Commander La Forge trying to reprogram a medical tricorder that can read through your body's energy."

Stark walked in with La Forge. Geordi immediately went to the transporter console and began scanning and preparing for the next transport. Stark put his helmet on and made sure the armor was fully powered.

Picard handed Stark a tricorder. Stark handed it back. "Give this one to him," he said, indicating Superman. "Geordi and I did a little field upgrade on the suit. Built in the equivalent of your specially programmed tricorder into my sensor systems.

Geordi tossed something to Iron Man. "Oh, yeah," Iron Man said. "Another little thing we whipped up." He handed the object to Superman. "When they said you were going to be going on this mission, we figured a headset mike would work better than a communicator. Hands-free. My suit is set to the same channel."

Superman nodded and put on the head-set. The wrap-around mike rested along the line of his jaw and ended near his mouth. It was similar to the radio units that the JLA used during field missions. "Fits good. What's so funny?"

Superman had noticed the very small, almost non-existent smile on Batman's face. Only someone that knew the Dark Knight Detective very well could have detected it. "I was just thinking. The man of steel and the man of iron."

"'Man of steel'?" Tony asked.

"It's a nickname the press tagged on me," Superman explained as he and Iron Man mounted the transporter pad.

He and Iron Man soon found themselves materializing on a tropical beach. The island they were on was little more than a volcanic point poking a couple hundred feet above the water's surface. The thin strip of sand they stood on was only a dozen feet wide.

"Where do you suppose we are?" Superman asked.

"Pacific Ocean, if this is Earth," Tony said, his voice altered by the Iron Man helmet. He pointed out to the water. The water was at low tide and a coral reef was evident. "I don't think coral like that grows anywhere else. But I'm only an engineer, not a biologist."

Superman sweep his eyes over the area where Iron Man had pointed. "I agree. Apparently your Earth and my Earth are similar." He turned on the tricorder and activated the scanning program as he'd been shown. "You hear that?"

"No. What is it?" Iron Man said.

"Sounds like engines." Superman turned around and tried to determine what direction the sound was coming from. "There, from over the island," he said. The tricorder was still scanning and he wasn't comfortable enough with the instrument to try using it to find the source of the noise.

Iron Man tuned his audio system to its highest sensitivity and aimed the directional mike built into the helmet toward where Superman had indicated. "I hear it now. Sounds like some sort of aircraft engine, but not a jet."

The two men visually scanned the horizon over the low peak of the island. "There," Superman said, pointing.

"Quite some peepers you've got there," Iron Man said. "I can't see anything."

"Well, it's not like I can count the fleas on a dog's back from the moon or anything like that, but I do seem to see a bit better than most humans."

"So we were told. Uh, I got them." The image of five small specks showed up on Iron Man's heads-up display as his built-in radar picked up what Superman had seen.

"Batman snitched on me, huh?"

"Just being thorough, I guess. We thought knowing more about your powers might help us track you down. Give us something unique to look for. When you're looking for a needle in a really big haystack, it helps to know what the needle looks like."

As the men talked, the five specks got closer. There were airplanes. As they roared overhead, both Iron Man and Superman recognized them. The bent-wing style was very unique.

"Corsairs," Iron Man said. "This is sometime around World War Two."

"Same on my world," Superman said. "The lead plane had a bunch of Japanese flags painted under the cockpit. Confirmed kills. An ace several times over."

"Yeah, I caught the name. Major G. Boyinton. Mean anything to you?"

"No. But, given the differences between universes aside, there were a lot of men in World War Two that were multiple aces."

"My armor is done scanning. Nothing registering from another universe except us."

"This tricorder is reading the same," Superman said. He alternated watching the US planes receding from view and watching the direction from which they had come. "Uh, oh," he said.

"What now?" Iron Man turned to the direction over the island. A force of at least twenty Japanese Zeros, fighter aircraft, headed in the same direction as the US aircraft.

"Hardly seems fair, now does it?" Superman said.

"No, it doesn't. Those Zeros are lighter. If they catch the Corsairs, they out number them four to one."

"Let's say we even the odds a bit."

"They didn't tell you about the Prime Directive, did they?" Stark asked.

"Batman told me. But that's in the Federation universe, not this one. I'm not saying we kill the Japanese pilots or anything. Just disable them. Give the Americans a fighting chance to get home."

"Heck," Iron Man said. "If they see us flying after them, they'll probably think they're imagining things anyway. I just hope there's not a bunch of gorillas piloting those planes."

"Gorillas?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you about it after we get back to the Enterprise."

Iron Man walked over to a small outcropping of rock on the sandy beach. Standing on the rock clearing, he stomped his feet to knock all the sand out of his boot jets. "Let's go," he said, lifting slowly into the air as the jets built up thrust.

Superman eased into the air beside him and matched the Golden Avenger's speed as the two headed off after the Zeros.

It only took the two strange visitors to this world barely a minute to catch up with the trailing Japanese aircraft. During their flight, Iron Man had scanned the radio frequency bands and detected the Japanese radio signals used by the planes. His on-board voice translator was able to pick up most of the words and convert them to English.

"They're chasing the Americans because the Americans just took out some sort of secret facility on an island about 100 miles away. They want to stop the Corsairs before they reach the Allied air defenses," Iron Man said over the communicator link to Superman.

"How far is that? How much time do we need to buy them."

"I don't know. The translator built into the armor is having a problem with some of the words. Apparently this universe's Japanese syntax is a little different from my universe."

Iron Man was now pacing three of the Zeros. He was above and slightly behind the planes. The pilots were obviously focused on their own lead plane and didn't see him.

He fired a low-power repulsor blast at each of the planes. The first plane took a hit in the tail rudder. Nothing too major, but enough to require the pilot to drop out of the pursuit. The plane veered off. The other two planes took their hits in the wing. Likewise, not enough damage to down the plane, but enough for them to lower their speed and turn back to base.

Superman used his heat vision to overheat the engines of five of the planes. He then used the heat vision narrowly focused to slice off a few of the planes' wingtips. This disrupted the airworthiness of enough planes that the entire squad gave up chase and headed back to base.

"That ought to do it," Superman said. "And I didn't see any gorillas."

"Good. Let's go home."

The two flew back to the small island and activated the recall device. As they waited the few seconds for the device to connect to the Enterprise and for the transporter beam to find them, Iron Man said, "I'm not telling Captain Picard."

"I won't either," Superman agreed.

* * *

### New York City

Kara Zor-el, Supergirl, walked calmly behind the older people. They made quite a picture on the streets of New York. The Big Apple had seen many things, but a green-skinned Martian and a barely teen girl with the "S" shield on her chest were still something unique for the majority of Americans. The rest of the group were all dressed more or less conventionally, but since they were obviously with the superheroes, the group as a whole turned heads.

"It happened here, right?" Supergirl asked.

"How did you know?" Dr. Irons asked. He removed his scanner from his coat pocket to confirm that the area was indeed the actual location.

"I can see it," Supergirl said.

"See it?" Jon asked.

"Yes," the teen of steel said. "It's right here. My super-vision shows some sort of...some sort of...hole in space. Right here." She pointed to the exact spot Lois had indicated.

"You shouldn't be able to see it," Dr. Irons said, scanning the area with his device. "Even a Kryptonian shouldn't be able to see the after effects..."

But she can, Jon projected to Dr. Irons and Diana. She's not the same type of Kryptonian as Superman.

Superman is the only survivor of Krypton, Diana thought. And *our* Supergirl is from another universe. So where does *this* Supergirl come from?

"I think I know," Dr. Irons said, out loud. "You're not from this universe, are you child?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the young Supergirl said. "I just heard on the radio that Superman was missing and I came to help out."

"But it was never released to the media that Superman was missing," Nightwing pointed out. "Ergo, you couldn't have heard it on the radio."

"You mean this is some sort of mistake?" Supergirl was confused.

"Not a mistake, dear," Diana told the youngster. "Strange things have been happening here. Our universe must be intersecting with yours in some way."

"I agree," said Dr. Irons.

Nightwing's cellular phone rang. He stepped away from the others to answer it.

"Is the whole gang still there?" Oracle asked. She didn't even introduce herself.

"Yes," Nightwing said.

"Something strange is going on."

"Yeah, we've determined that. How weird exactly?"

"The whole world is going crazy. But the big thing, and I do mean big, is the giant T-Rex that's about to eat Staten Island."

"Bye," Nightwing said. "Hey, gang, we're needed. Some big dino is dining on Staten Island."

Diana immediately pulled off her jacket and began unbuttoning her blouse. Several guys on the street stopped walking by and stared at the statuesque beauty. As the double-W emblem of her Wonder Woman costume appeared from under the blouse, the men hurried along.

"My van is parked up the street," Dr. Irons said as he hurried off. "I'll meet you there."

On a youthful impulse, Supergirl launched herself into the sky. The Martian Manhunter took off after her.

Diana turned to Lois as she stepped out of her skirt. "I'm sorry. Duty calls," Wonder Woman said.

"I'm going with you."

"You can't. It might be dangerous."

"I'm a reporter. This sounds like a big story. You can drop me somewhere safe."

"Okay," Diana said, reaching at least a temporary truce with Lois.

The two women were in the air in a split second, following Jon and the ersatz Supergirl.

Nightwing ran after Dr. Irons. "Can I hitch a ride?"

"Sure," Dr. Irons said, running across the street and barely missing getting hit by several taxis.

Nightwing sprung off the hood of one of the taxis and made a three-point landing on the sidewalk near the van. Dr. Irons slid open the side door of the van and crawled in. The door slid shut behind him.

Nightwing opened the front passenger seat. He stole a glance into the back of the van. Dr. Irons was already undressed and partly into his Steel armor. Nightwing ducked down slightly to get out of view; he pulled the fake beard and baseball hat off. In it's place went a mask over his eyes.

Hiding partly behind the passenger door, Nightwing took off the leather jacket and peeled off the tee-shirt. Underneath was his Kevlar and Nomex Nightwing costume. He struggled to pull the jeans off over his boots, but eventually they came off and he threw the jacket, tee-shirt, and jeans into the van.

Nightwing slammed the passenger door shut just as the side door of the van opened and Steel, the armored member of the JLA, stepped out.

Steel was encased in shiny silver armor and carried a large metal hammer. The hammer was actually remotely controlled and when thrown would return to Steel's hand. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Nightwing slid his gloves on. They were both ready for the fight ahead.

Steel reached out his free hand and Nightwing took hold. The next moment, they were flying through the New York sky, propelled by Steel's rockets.

* * *

Diana dropped Lois near the base of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, on the Long Island side. The two women stood for a moment and took in the scene before them. New York Harbor had welcomed many newcomers to the United States. Now, beyond the bridge, the entrance to New York Harbor proper, was about to receive it strangest visitor.

A giant monster stood in Lower New York Bay and towered over the lighthouse just off Coney Island. The monster was black, with a smallish Tyrannosaurus type head, and puny arms, but a thick heavy body. The beast's tail and feet were unseen, hidden by the water in which it stood. The monster stood easily 500 feet above the water. Given the depth of the water, Diana estimated that it was easily 600 or 700 feet tall.

Soldiers from the Fort Wadsworth Military Reservation were assembling on the shore on the Bronx side of the harbor. Police from the New York City borough of the Bronx were assembling on this side of the bridge, and those from Staten Island could be seen on the far shore. Coast Guard tugs and even a small cutter were trying to clear the routine water traffic from the vicinity.

High in the air above the bridge, Supergirl and the Martian Manhunter hovered, eyeing the beast. Jon had managed to catch the mysterious young Kryptonian. Although he didn't think she was really Superman's cousin, at least not in this universe, he couldn't allow the teenager to die or injure herself from fighting the monster alone. This sort of a crisis required a coordination of effort.

He reached out with his mind and found Diana's. What in the name of Zeus is that thing? the Amazon asked through the mind link.

I don't know, Jon said.

Wonder Woman was beginning to attract almost as much attention on the shore as the monster was in the bay. A police cruiser pulled up next to where she and Lois stood. A plain clothes police officer hurried out of the passenger side and ran to Diana's side.

The police officer flashed a badge and introduced himself. "Captain McClane," he said. "My friends call me John." He was medium height, with thinning hair cropped short. He tried smiling at the Amazon Princess. With Diana around, all other women were ignored--Lois didn't mind being nearly invisible. It would make it easier to get the facts.

Steel and Nightwing arrived, landing beside Diana and Lois. "Wow," Nightwing said. He pulled out his radio and had Oracle on the other end in a split second. "Oracle, what is this thing?" he asked.

"I'm watching this live on CNN," Oracle said. "Looks to me like a cross between a stegosaurus and tyrannosaurus, but bigger. No one has any idea where it came from. They are reporting it just showed up about ten minutes ago and has been headed toward shore ever since. CNN is reporting that the Japanese have a legend about something like this, called Gojira. I guess the best English translation would be 'Godzilla'."

Captain McClane overheard the conversation with Oracle. "Godzilla, huh? Well, it fits." He turned back to Wonder Woman. "I'm used to dealing with drug dealers and terrorists. Don't know nothing about giant sea monsters. What are you superheroes going to do?" The emphasis the police captain had placed on the word "superheroes" revealed his cynical nature.

"We're assessing that right now," Diana told him.

"Well, maybe a little less assessing and more ass-kicking," McClane said. "That thing comes much closer, it'll take out Verrazano-Narrows." He pointed to the large bridge towering over them.

McClane's point was obvious. Beyond the bridge was the Statue of Liberty, Governors Island, the NY Coast Guard Station, the Hudson River, and of course, Manhattan.

Just then, the air was split by a deafening roar from the beast. Godzilla reared back its head and shot a plume of plasma far over the harbor.

Jon, you going to be okay? Diana thought across the mental link with the Martian.

I'll be okay, Jon thought back. But we'll all probably want to stay clear of that fire.

Good point, Diana thought. She turned to Nightwing. "Coordinate with Oracle, the military, and the police," she ordered. "Steel, Manhunter, and I will try to get its attention. Lead it back out to sea."

Nightwing nodded agreement. "Good luck," he said.

"And see if Oracle can find Green Lantern. We need a big gun."

With that, she took to the air. Steel rocketed after her. She and the armored engineer met up with Jon in mid-air.

"Supergirl, you stay here," Diana ordered.

"Why?"

"We need someone to guard the bridge. If it gets through us, you're all that stands between it and New York."

The youthful Kryptonian was obviously disappointed. As with all teenagers, the disappointment showed on her face. But she nodded. She hovered in the same spot, intently guarding the Verrazano-Narrows bridge.

Diana hadn't actually intended the teenager to be their last stand. She just didn't want an unknown quantity fighting amongst them. She wondered which was the bigger enigma, the monster before them, or the doppelganger Supergirl.

The three of them flew out to where Godzilla was. Steel flew to the right and Diana to the left. Despite his fear of fire, Jon stayed in front of the monster, trying to get and keep its attention. When Diana and Steel were positioned, Jon concentrated for a moment and used his morphing ability to turn invisible. He wasn't actually invisible, but rather, like a chameleon he blended into his background.

The monster didn't seem to notice Jon. It was intent on the city beyond the bridge.

Steel took the first strike. He let loose with his hammer. He threw it as hard as he could, striking the monster from behind, hoping to turn the beast's attention from New York and back out to sea.

The beast shrugged off the hammer. The magnetic levitation controls in the hammer returned it to its owner.

Diana tried next. Striking with the strength of the ancient Greek gods, the Amazon Princess flew forward and struck the beast under where its ear should have been. Godzilla batted at her with its small arms. Although the arms were small in comparison to Godzilla itself, the arms and the clawed hands at the end of each arm were still the size of a city buses. A glancing blow stunned Wonder Woman and she fell into the cold water far below.

Jon dove into the water to retrieve his teammate as Steel tried once again with the hammer. This time, Godzilla saw it coming and turned his mighty head. The hammer disappeared in a blast of atomic plasma. Seeing that Jon had retrieved Diana from the water, the three headed back toward the bridge. Their first strike had failed and they needed to regroup.

Jon reached out with his mind. Oracle! He thought. Any luck contacting Green Lantern?

No, Oracle responded. "I can't find him," she said, out loud. "I don't know if he's just out of reach or has disappeared like Superman and Batman," Oracle said.

Godzilla turned back to the bridge and took another step forward. McClane ordered the police to fall back and move any civilian observers back as well. He personally tried to herd Lois and Nightwing back from the anchor points of the bridge. When Godzilla hit that bridge, all hell would break loose.

* * *


	19. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 19

### Dodge City, Kansas

James Bond had been in Dodge City almost two months now. He'd pretty much given up any idea of returning to his rightful time and place. He was tired of racking his brain for a solution. For all he knew, time travel was impossible. Obviously, it wasn't. But he had no idea of how to reverse his journey, or of anyone in this age that did.

During the cattle drives, Dodge become a wild town. Dillon had asked him to work as a deputy during the cattle season. With nothing better to do, Dillon agreed.

Texas cattlemen drove their herds north to the rail lines. At that time, the rail only extended into Kansas and not south into Texas. So, each year, hundreds of cowboys would herd thousands of head of cattle along the Chisholm trail into towns like Abilene and Wichita. Eventually, the townspeople in each town would become fed up with the rowdy cowboys, the rail would be extended further west, and the trailhead would move to the next town west.

From about 1875 till only ten short years later, the trail ended in Dodge City.

One day near the end of the 1882 season, Deputy Bond was Marshall Dillon's office updating the marshall on the day's events when a tall stranger came into the office. A stranger to Bond, at least, because it soon become evident that the stranger and Dillon were old friends.

"Brisco, you old son of a gun," Dillon said, rising from his chair.

"Matt Dillon, you ol' snake in the grass," the stranger said. "How the hell are ya?"

"Can't complain," Dillon said. "What brings you to Dodge?"

"Trailin' the Bly gang. Lost 'em in Pueblo. Thought they might head east and try to mix in with the cowboys headed back south."

Dillon nodded. "James," he said, "This here is the best lawman you'll ever met, Marshall Brisco County."

Bond shook the man's hand. Marshall County was tall, with just the hint of gray in his temples and showing through his thick moustache. The man's grip was firm, but not overpowering. This was obviously a man self-assured and not having to assert himself unnecessarily.

"So how's Brisco Jr.?" Dillon asked.

"He's back east, going to school. Wants to be a lawyer."

Dillon nodded. "Good for him."

"Too bad he doesn't want to be a lawman like his old pop," County said.

"Well, Brisco, you have to admit, it doesn't make for much of a home life, now does it? Chasing after men all over the country. You ought to find yourself a quiet little town and settle down as the town marshal."

"Like you did, you mean?"

Dillon chuckled, "Yeah, like I did."

"So?"

"So, have I seen Bly or any of his gang?" Dillon asked.

"Yep."

Dillon shook his head. "Nope. Been a busy season. Lot's of cowboys through here. And there's still a few herds due to arrive. My guess is if they were going to head south, they'd hook up with the trail south of here. Why come into Dodge and risk being seen?"

County nodded. He'd obviously thought the same thing. "Just had to check. And it's always good to see an old friend."

"Staying long?"

"Probably bed down here tonight. Sleep in a real bed for a change," County said. "Then hit the trail again tomorrow morning."

"Go to Emma's Boarding House," Dillon said. "Tell her you're an old friend of mine. Maybe we can get together tonight for supper and talk old times."

"I'd like that," County said.

The two men shook hands again and County left.

"Old friend?" Bond asked.

"Served in the war together," Dillon said. The way he said it, it told Bond it was a touchy subject. "Now, tell me more about that fight you broke up."

"Wasn't much, just drunken cowboys, you know the story. Arguing over some salon gal."

Dillon nodded. During trail season, that amounted to about 80% of what he and his deputies did: break up fights between drunken cowboys.

Most of the cowboys were young men, 15 to 25 at the oldest. The cowboys were paid off at the end of the trail. Often times, it was their first time away from home, the first time with a big wad of pay in their pocket. They drank, gambled, caroused with the saloon girls, and then drank some more. And, inevitably, they would fight. Sometimes over a saloon girl, sometimes over a real or imagined insult on the trail, or a cheat at the tables. Sometimes they fought just for the fun of it.

Bond grabbed a cup of coffee. A pot was always warm on the stove. It wasn't the sort of coffee he remembered his housekeeper Mae making, but then it was strong and kept you awake. He sat down for a few minutes to look through the latest bunch of wanted posters that had come in with the latest mail.

A few minutes later, an old man came into the marshall's office.

"Can I help you, old timer?" Dillon asked.

"I'ma looking for this hear pole cat," the old man said. He pulled a wanted poster out from inside his shirt and unfolded it.

Bond watched the old man carefully. There was something about the old man that just made the hairs on his neck stand up. The old guy wasn't what he seemed.

"Butch Cavandish," Dillon read. "Nope, haven't seen him. This guy's a wanted man in just about every state and territory from here to California. You should be careful if you go looking for him, old man."

"Oh, I will," the old man said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out something. He tossed it on Dillon's desk. It was a silver star and a bullet. The star was a Texas Ranger star and the bullet was bright silver in color, not dull gray.

Dillon eyed the two items carefully. He picked up the bullet and hefted it. "This is silver," he said.

"Yep," the old man said. "You's ever hear the tale about six Texas Rangers that was ambushed by Cavandish's gang about ten years ago?"

"Every lawman west of the Mississippi has heard that story," Dillon said. "You trying to tell me that you're the lone ranger that survived that ambush?"

"Yep, sonny, that I am."

"Why the disguise?"

"I usually wear a mask, but I didn't want to startle any of your townfolk," the old man said. "Sometimes, it's just easier this way. No one gives an old man any second guess."

Dillon nodded. "I'll have my deputies be on the lookout for Cavandish or his gang."

The door to the marshall's office opened again. "Busy today," Bond commented, slipping his coffee.

The newcomer was medium height and wore a bolero jacket and tight slacks, hardly the type of clothes most men in Dodge wore. Six-guns hung from holsters on both hips. "Marshall?" he asked.

"I'm Marshall Dillon."

"West, James West," the man introduced himself. He opened his jacket and showed his own star. "I'm with the United States Secret Service. I'm just passing through and thought I should check in with the local marshall."

"What brings you to Dodge City, Mr. West?" Dillon asked.

"Headed to Denver to escort a shipment of gold bullion to the San Francisco Mint. We had to lay on supplies, so we'll only be here a day or two."

"We?"

"My partner, Artemis Gordon, is with me."

"Where are you staying while you're in Dodge?" Dillon asked.

"We have our own private train," West said. "It's parked on the siding just west of town."

"You's all still travelin' in that fancy train?" the old man asked.

"Do I know you, old timer?" West asked. "You don't look familiar and I'm usually very good with faces."

The old man stood up straight. He gained nearly a foot in height by doing so. His voice changed, becoming deeper and stronger, when he spoke again. "I wasn't wearing this face the last time we met, James."

"Ranger?" West exclaimed, "Is that you?"

The old man shook his head.

"I thought that white stallion out front looked familiar. Wait until I tell Artie. He'll be tickled pink. You know, that disguise you taught him the last time we ran into each other is still his favorite."

"Well, it's better than that awful getup he was wearing," the Ranger said.

West laughed. "Yeah, Artie never did make a very attractive woman."

Bond and Dillon looked at each other, totally lost from the other two men's conversation.

* * *

Later that evening, Dillon and Bond walked over to the Dodge House restaurant for dinner. They swung by Emma's Boarding House and got Marshal County to join them.

"You think it's okay to leave the town unguarded while we eat and socialize?" County asked.

"Festus can handle things," Dillon said. "And Newly's just up the street at the livery." Deputy O'Brien worked part time as a blacksmith.

The three men walked into the Dodge House. They were surprised to see the old man and West there. Two other men were with them. One was a slightly older man, dressed almost as natty as Jim West. The other was an Indian. West waved them over.

"Marshall Dillon, Marshall County, Deputy, why don't you join us?" West said.

"Don't mind if we do," Dillon said. He and his two companions sat down.

"This must be the most lawmen this town has ever seen," Gordon said.

"Artie, mind your manners. Marshall Dillon, this is my partner, Artemis Gordon," West introduced his friend. "And the silent one over there," he indicated the Indian opposite him, "Is Tonto, the Ranger's partner."

Dillon tipped his hat at the men, as did County and Bond. "This is an old friend of mine, Brisco County, and one of my deputies, James Bond."

The six men were half way through their meal when Sam, the bartender from the Long Branch, came running in. "Marshall!"

"What is it?" Dillon demanded, instantly on his feet.

"Miss Kitty sent me. There's a bunch of men over at the Long Branch. They're saying they're here to call you out."

"Who are they, Sam?"

"Don't know, never seen 'um before. They just said there're here to kill Marshall Dillon for killing their brother."

That doesn't help, Dillon thought. The unfortunate matter of fact was that he'd killed quite a few men in his career. And any one of them could have had brothers that would some day come looking for revenge.

"How many are there?" Bond said.

"About six or seven, I ain't sure. Only four came in the Long Branch, but when I ran over here, I saw a couple more outside. They're waiting in case you don't show."

Dillon put his hat on and started for the door.

"Matt, wait," County said. "You're almost as good a shot as I am, but you can't face six or seven men by yourself."

"He's right, Marshal," Bond said.

"I'm going with you," County said.

"As am I," Bond said.

The other four men all stood. The old man turned away from the others for a moment and pulled off his fake beard and adjusted his hat. When he turned back to face them, he was wearing a close fitting mask over his eyes. "We're all standing with you, Marshall," the Lone Ranger said.

Tonto spoke his first words of the evening, "Kemosabe say you a good lawman, Marshall. We join you."

West already had his hands on his gun handles and Gordon was checking his own pistols. "We go as one," West said.

"Agreed," County said.

"Sam, go tell Festus and fetch Newly," Dillon told Sam.

"Well do, Marshall." The bartender was almost out of breath, but he ran out of the restaurant without a second thought.

Dillon looked at each man in return. He knew they were all seasoned lawmen, some of them were almost legends on the frontier. He didn't try to talk them out of it; he knew they knew what they were committing to.

He turned and the seven of them walked out of the restaurant as if one.

Dillon and his group of fellow lawmen never did learn the names of the men that called them out. As they moved as a group toward the Long Branch, the four men in the saloon came out and were joined by four more from the street. The eight men lined up shoulder to shoulder across the breadth of the main street.

Dillon and his followers likewise strung themselves out until they likewise stood shoulder to shoulder.

"I'm Marshall Dillon."

"You killed our brother," one of the men yelled back.

"I've killed a lot of men," Dillon said. "But only the ones that deserved it."

"Our brother didn't deserve to die like a sick dog, shot in the back by some cowardly lawman."

"I've never shot a man in the back," Dillon said. "You've got the wrong lawman."

"Maybe. But you and you lawman buddies will do," the man yelled back.

The two groups of men stood staring at each other for a couple of seconds. No one could remember rightly who fired the first shot, but the whole thing was over in just seconds.

When the smoke cleared, the eight men were all laying on the ground dead, or dying.

Dillon and his group were all still standing. They holstered their weapons.

"Matthew," Festus said, running up. The deputy had the habit of squinting hard with one eye and bugging out the other. He gave Dillon and the rest of the lawmen a hard look with his good eye and then surveyed the dead men laying on the street. He didn't need an explanation of what happened. He'd seen similar scenes more times then he cared to remember.

Many gunslingers had heard about Marshall Dillon's speed and prowess with a six-shooter. Some had come to Dodge to try their hand against the Marshall. And, so far, none had succeeded in besting Dillon.

Just then, James Bond felt something wet on his stomach. He reached up and felt blood coming from his chest and fell forward onto the ground.

"Mr. Bond," West said, rushing forward to try and catch the deputy.

"Festus, go get Doc Adams."

"Sure 'nuff, Matthew," Festus said.

"And the undertaker for these other men," Dillon yelled after Festus. Dillon bent down to see how badly Bond was hit.

* * *

Doctor Bashir and Chief O'Brien found themselves in a small town in the dead of night. They both had their tricorders out. Within a few minutes of scanning, they both had a weak signal.

"This doesn't look right," O'Brien said. "It shows a small quantity of matter with a quantum frequency that's not native here."

"I agree," Bashir said.

"Which way?"

"I read this way," Bashir said, pointing off into the night.

The two men headed off in the direction Bashir indicated. They eventually came to a cast iron fence.

"Uh, I don't like this," Bashir said.

"Why?"

"This looks like a cemetery to me." He ran a few calculations through the tricorder. A moment later, "Yep, the reading we're getting is just about the mass of an adult skeleton."

"Don't say that," O'Brien pleaded.

"Well, let's confirm it. Maybe something of Bond's just got buried. His clothes maybe."

They walked around the block and found the gate. The sign over the gate read "Dodge City Cemetery." The two pushed on the gate and it swung open. They went in. Like most any other cemetery, stone memorials rested on the ground, raising above the burial spots. Triangulating with the tricorder, the two soon found themselves standing in front of a headstone labeled simply "James Bond, Deputy." The space on the headstone for a birth year was blank. The year of his death was stated as 1882.

"1882?" O'Brien said.

"Obviously, we've arrived after that date," Bashir said. He scanned the remains buried in the grave below them. "There's a skeleton here alright. Human, possibly male. Based on the type of burial back then, and the current condition of the remains, I'd say he died probably 30 to 40 years ago."

"How can we be sure it's Bond?"

"The bones do show a quantum frequency that is not the same as everything else. The grave stone, the fence over there, the trees, everything else reads different. If it's not Bond, then someone else came here from another universe too."

"Well, I guess that's that," O'Brien said. He started to press the recall button.

"No, stop!" Bashir said.

"What? There's nothing more we can do here. You're not thinking of digging him up, are you?"

"No!" Bashir said. "But we should stay around for a while. At least until morning. Find out for sure exactly where and when we are. Then we'll have a better idea of when to come back."

"Come back? You mean go further back in time to before he died?"

"Yes."

"But he's already dead, Julian," O'Brien said. "Won't going back before he died change the normal course of this universe? Isn't that against the Prime Directive?"

"But he's not native to this universe to begin with. Him just being here violated the Prime Directive. If we go back, find him alive, and return him to his own universe, we'll actually be returning this universe to it's rightful course."

"I hate temporal mechanics," O'Brien moaned. "Next time, remind me to send Data in my place." He looked around. "So, where to we wait?"

Bashir looked around. "It's a warm night, Miles. There's grass here. I say we just sit down and wait right here."

"Here? But it's a grave site," O'Brien protested.

"Okay, okay. We'll wait outside the gate," Bashir suggested.

"That's better."

The morning came slowly. Both Bashir and O'Brien had nodded off as they rested against the cemetery fence. Bashir had programmed his tricorder to monitor the amount of light and to beep when it reached dawn levels.

The two men started awake as the tricorder resting between them began beeping.

They wandered around the small town. They guessed that they were in this universe's Dodge City, Kansas, some time in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century, but they didn't know what year for sure. They hoped to find a newspaper, or some other indication.

The streets were quiet at this early hour. In the distance, a train whistle could be heard. For the two amateur historical recreationists, it was almost like a field trip. They both were taking lots of tricorder recordings to be used later to add critical detail to a holodeck program.

They watched in fascination as a horse-drawn milk wagon slowly worked its way up the street. The driver of the wagon stopped every few houses and he'd get off and carry the full glass milk bottles to the front door and return to his wagon with empty bottles. It was something both men had read about in history books, and seen in holodeck recreations of classic motion pictures. But it was entirely a different experience to see it happening right in front of your eyes. Even the best holodeck recreations couldn't prove the little details; the smell of the horse, the delicate clinking sound of the bottles as they were set down on the sidewalks, the sounds of the birds in the trees overhead.

Gradually, there was more traffic on the small street. Men riding horses, horses pulling wagons and smaller coaches, men and woman walking along the street. Most of the passersby looked wearily at the two Starfleet officers. After all, their tight uniforms looked like sleepwear to the people of this era.

"Julian, let's just find what we're looking for and get out of here," O'Brien suggested. "I can feel that cellular deterioration occurring. Every breath I take makes it worse."

Bashir ran his tricorder over both himself and the Chief. "Miles, you're fine," the doctor said, with his most practiced "doctor's voice." "There's very little deterioration in this universe. At least that I can detect."

"What do you mean 'that you can detect'?"

Bashir sighed. "We still don't know that much about what causes the deterioration. It's possible that we can't detect it as well while we're actually here. It might only show up when we return home."

O'Brien's scowl just got deeper.

The two walked up the street and took a side street deeper into the center of the town. They were looking for a newspaper office. It was still apparently too early for the majority of the businesses to be open. The two men continued to walk.

On one of the side streets, they saw a solitary man leading his horse. The man wore a white wide-brimmed Stetson. He appeared to be talking to himself.

O'Brien tugged on Bashir's arm, leading him away from the man. Bashir pulled away. "Miles, he may be psychotic. I'm a doctor."

"It would also be against the Prime Directive, Julian."

They overhead the man as he got closer. "I'm tellin' ya, Comet, I've been a bounty hunter almost twenty years now, and this guy is the hardest to find. I'm sure if Lord Bowler were here, he'd have found the guy by now."

"See, Julian," O'Brien whispered, "He's nuts. Talking to his horse about nonsense."

"Excuse me, sir," Bashir said. "Sir?"

The man leading the horse stopped up short and looked at the two strangers in the black pajamas. For a moment, he wondered if they were in one of the Chinese gangs like those he'd encountered in California. But they were white men. And the one that had addressed him had a vaguely English accent. Some sort of limey. "Brisco County, Jr. at your service," he said, doffing his hat.

"Mr. County, I'm a little lost," Julian said, moving closer to the man. Under his hand, Bashir held the tricorder, scanning the man for obvious physiological or psychological diseases. "Perhaps you can help me. Are you familiar with this part of the country?"

"Well, a little," County said. "Now my dear departed Daddy. He knew this part of the plains like the back of his hand. But that was a whole lotta years ago."

"Yes, right. Is this Dodge City, Kansas?"

"Yeah," County said, eyeing the two.

Bashir turned to O'Brien, obviously acting. "See, Miles, I told you. It is Dodge City." He turned back to the man with the horse. "We arrived last night. In the dark, you know. Couldn't see very well."

"What day is today?"

"April 5th," County said.

"And the year?"

"19 and ten," County said. "You don't know what year it is? Maybe you need to see a doctor."

"No thanks," Bashir said. "Actually, I'm a physician myself."

"Oh, yeah?" County said. "Hey, can you look at my arm?"

"What's wrong with it?" Bashir asked innocently.

"It hurts when I do this," County said, raising his arm.

"Then don't do that," Bashir told him innocently.

O'Brien snickered. Julian shot him a dirty look.

"Okay, thanks," County said. "Come on, Comet." And he lead his horse on down the street.

After County was out of hearing range, Bashir turned to O'Brien. "What's so funny?"

"That's an old, old joke."

"What is?"

"'Doctor, it hurts when I do this--so don't do that!'" O'Brien quoted. "I told you the guy was crazy."

"Nope. I scanned him. He's fine. Just a little unconventional, I'd say. Let's go home."

They looked around. No one else was in sight, expect County and he was looking the other way. O'Brien pressed the recall button. A moment later, the two Starfleet officers dematerialized.

* * *


	20. Default Chapter Title

# Time for a Change

By Les Bonser

This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.

No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.

* * *

## Chapter 20

### Captain's Log, supplemental

Captain Jean-Luc Picard, USS Enterprise, recording.

Doctor Bashir and Chief O'Brien have just returned from their away mission with bad news. They found our last remaining displaced individual, but were unable to retrieve him. He is deceased. They found Mr. Bond's remains in a small town in Kansas in the year 1910. According to records they found, he had died 28 years earlier.

Mr. Data and the crew are currently debating the option of trying another away mission; this time to 1882 to try and retrieve Mr. Bond before his untimely death.

We are currently awaiting analysis and guidance from both Starfleet Command and the Vulcan Science Academy.

* * *

### USS Enterprise, in the Beta Quadrant

The command crews from both the Enterprise and the Defiant were assembled in the Executive Conference Room, along with their four guests. Selina Kyle was all but recovered from her emergency surgery. Superman, Batman, and Iron Man were as grim as the rest of the crew. The fate of their universes rested on the ability to snatch Bond from jaws of death.

Picard summarized what they knew: "The away team came back with visual evidence that Mr. Bond died in 1882. This agrees with Doctor Bashir's tricorder readings. The body in the grave they found with Bond's name on it had been deceased for approximately 30 to 40 years. O'Brien and Bashir additionally confirmed that they were indeed in 1910."

"How do we know it was Bond in that grave?" Batman asked.

Bashir answered the question. "The remains in the grave were definitely from your universe. They had the same quantum frequency as your body, Miss Kyle's body, and presumably, Superman's body. The quantity of mass in the grave was consistent with the bones of a person dead for that long and accounting for decay consistent with conventional embalming techniques used in that time period. Based on your own description of Mr. Bond's height and build, I'd say the bones were a match."

Picard continued, "The suggested course of action is to go back in the same physical location, but 28 years previous and find Bond before his death. This obviously opens up a number of Prime Directive issues."

"I hate to sound callous," Colonel Kira said, "But is it really necessary? I thought the temporal distortions have slowed down. Let's return these four to their corresponding universes and everything should return to normal."

Data spoke up first. "Yes, Colonel, they have slowed down. But not stopped. The universe is still breaking up, just not as fast as before. And we do not have enough evidence from other universes to know what effect the distortion is still having on them. According to the Vulcan Science Academy, it is possible that each universe is sensitive to this sort of thing to differing degrees."

"Much as each of us is sensitive to the cellular deterioration to differing degrees," Bashir interjected, trying to provide an analogy.

"If we return these four now, the distortion may go away entirely," Kira suggested. "We're making things worse by keeping them here."

"Agreed, Colonel," Captain Picard said. "But unfortunately, Superman and Iron Man are our only staff that seem to be almost totally resistant to the cellular deterioration. If we send them home now, and can't find Bond soon, we'll all be too sick to continue."

Data added, "And our current theories suggest that the distortion is moderated by having them here together. For whatever reason, this point in our universe seems to be more immune to temporal effects. This is probably because of our proximity to the anomaly itself. If we try to beam them back to their universe, and send them to another universe by mistake, we could speed up the destruction instead of prevent it. Starfleet Command has ordered us to make a single attempt at returning them to the proper universes rather than separate attempts. Also, the distortion here provides a guidepath back to their native universe. If we return them one at a time, we may lose that guidepath and be unable to return the rest."

* * *

Superman and Iron Man reported to the transporter room. They both assumed they would be going on this away mission. Batman accompanied them.

When they arrived at the transporter room, Counselor Troi was already there. She was dressed in period clothing. Heavy trousers and a denim shirt hid her female shape. A pair of suspenders held the trousers up. A leather gun belt hung across her waist and a six-gun was in the holster at her hip. A wide-brimmed hat topped off the costume. Her thick black hair was pinned up and tucked under the hat.

She tossed a bundle of clothes to Superman. "Your costume is a little too colorful for where we're going," Troi said.

Picard, Riker, and Data walked in. "Counselor?" Picard asked. "What's the meaning of this?"

"The old west is a personal interest of mine, Captain. You know that. I'm the most prepared of the crew to go there."

"Deanna, this is too dangerous," Riker said.

"And you've been exposed to the cellular deterioration," Data chimed in.

"Beverly cleared me to go, Captain. Who else knows anything about 1880's Kansas?"

"I do," Superman said. The rest all looked at him. "I'm actually from Kansas. Learned about it in grade school..."

"I thought you were an alien?" Riker said.

"I am a Kryptonian," Superman said. "But I was born in Kansas. My birthing chamber crashed there. I was raised on a farm."

"Ah, well, we were hoping you'd go anyway," Picard said. "You're the most resistant to the cellular deterioration, of course. But, Counselor, ...Deanna, I don't know about sending you."

"Captain, if Mr. Bond was killed in 1882 it very well could have been in a gun fight or some other sort of violence. I'm not a full telepath like my mother, but my empathy might give us a clue as to who kills Mr. Bond. Soon enough for Superman to stop it."

"She has a point, Jean-Luc," Riker said.

"It is logical," Data conceded.

"Gentlemen?" Picard asked Iron Man and Batman.

"My armor might be a little out of place in the old west," Tony said. "I'm okay with staying here."

The group all turned to Batman. Although their time together had been short, they all agreed that he was a master strategist.

"If your Betazed abilities are everything I've read, you might be of some help," he said. "The stakes are too high. We need every advantage we can get."

Picard said, "Well, then, Counselor, I guess you're going on this away mission."

By now, Superman had slipped the trousers, heavy shirt, and hat over his skintight costume. He and Deanna looked like a couple of trail hands right out of the old west.

The two rematerialized a few minutes later on the plains of Kansas. Far in the horizon, there was a cloud of dust. Superman looked in that direction. "Looks like a cattle drive," he said.

Deanna had out her tricorder. She scanned the surrounding area. "There's a small town, off that way," she pointed.

"I see it."

"You can?"

"Yes. I have special powers too, remember?"

"Right," Deanna said. She was still in awe and a little scared of this stranger. He looked so normal, but was so different from the men she knew. "We're too far away to get a reliable reading on the tricorder. I guess a little walk is in order."

Superman held out his hands. "I can get us a lot closer in a hurry."

"You mean fly?" Deanna asked. "Won't someone see us?"

"We'll stay low and keep an eye out."

"You want me to jump up into those arms?" Troi said, hesitant. The hands that Superman held out were the same ones that had bent the gauge three duranium-reinforced tritanium rod. They were hands that could rip Data in half or punch through the Enterprise's hull.

"I can carry you anyway that makes you comfortable."

Deanna tucked the tricorder into her pants pocket. She hesitantly moved closer to Superman and he scooped her up in his arms. "That didn't hurt, now did it?" Superman said. Before Deanna could answer, he was floating about three feet above the ground and they were moving about fifty kilometers an hour toward the small town.

They were only about five minutes walk from the town when Superman dropped down and landed. He gently put Deanna down. They walked into the town through the scrub brush.

The railroad ran east to west. It divided the town in two. Everything north of the railroad was considered respectable and everything south of the line was considered unsavory. Superman and Deanna walked through the unsavory part of Dodge City.

Loose women, euphemistically called "soiled doves," sat outside their cribs, small huts, barely more than shacks. The sound of carnal activity came from several of the cribs. Deanna felt despair coming from all of them. Cowboys moved in and out of the various saloons and gambling houses.

Deanna had studied this part of Earth history because her father had been a movie fan. He'd loved the old black and white westerns that contributed so much to Earth's cinematic history. The movie version, and in fact, the history book version, was nothing like real life.

"Looks pretty rough here," Superman said.

"I can take care of myself," Deanna said. Her hand rested on the butt of her six-gun. She tried to make the gesture look casual, but knew it didn't.

"Is that a working replica?" Superman asked.

"It's actually a low-powered phaser," she said.

"Ah."

Deanna had the tricorder out and was trying to clandestinely take the necessary readings. The baggy pants helped. The two stopped on a deserted side street.

"Looks like he's here," Troi said. "Tricorder's got him. The other side of the railroad tracks. And moving. He's alive!"

They headed out in the general direction of the tricorder signal.

As they walked down the main street of Dodge City, they saw four men walk out of a saloon and join four more on the street. Coming from the other direction were seven men. Several of the seven wore Marshall's stars.

Troi and Superman moved to the side of the street, behind a horse trough. "This is it," Troi said in an urgent whisper. "I'm sensing a lot of hatred from these eight men. There's going to be a gun fight."

"Which one is Bond?" Superman asked, hurriedly.

Troi consulted the tricorder again. "He's one of the men coming toward us. There, the second from the end." She pointed toward Bond and the other lawmen. "This has to be it. He's going to be killed in this gunfight. We need to stop it before it happens."

The lawmen stood shoulder to shoulder facing the outlaws.

"I'm Marshall Dillon," the man standing next to Bond yelled out to the eight men standing in front of the saloon.

"You killed our brother," one of the men yelled back.

"I've killed a lot of men," Dillon said. "But only the ones that deserved it."

"Our brother didn't deserve to die like a sick dog, shot in the back by some cowardly lawman."

"I've never shot a man in the back," Dillon said. "You've got the wrong lawman."

"Maybe. But you and you lawman buddies will do," the man yelled back.

"Do something," Troi pleaded. "They're getting ready to shoot."

Superman surveyed the situation. He let his heat vision flash out. It hit several of outlaws' guns in their holsters. The heat caused two of the guns to explode in the holsters. Shrapnel from the exploded gun dropped one man to the ground, his leg injured. The other man jumped in surprise. He fell sideways against one of the other outlaws. The two were tangled up as the first man tried to unbuckle his gun belt.

The other six of the outlaws scattered. Only three managed to clear their guns from their holsters before the lawmen had their own guns drawn. Two of the guns exploded in the outlaws' hands as Superman glanced at them, his heat vision nearly invisible. The other four, now outnumbered and unable to explain the events of the last couple of seconds, dropped their remaining guns and raised their hands in surrender.

The lawmen didn't fire one shot and neither did the outlaws.

"Matthew," Festus said, running up. The deputy had the habit of squinting hard with one eye and bugging out the other. He gave Dillon and the rest of the lawmen a hard look with his good eye and then surveyed the wounded and surrendering outlaws. "What in tarnation?" he asked.

"Festus, go get Doc Adams. A couple of these men are hurt. Can't explain how they guns backfired like that, but there'll be no gun fights here today," Dillon said.

"Sure 'nuff, Matthew," Festus said. He rushed off to find the doctor.

The other lawmen, including Bond, waded into the mass of outlaws and manhandled these that were uninjured off to the jail.

"That was close," Troi said, watching the lawmen lead the outlaws off.

"Let's get Mr. Bond and get out of here," Superman said.

"Lead on," Troi said.

The two headed off after the lawmen. "Mr. Bond," Superman yelled ahead.

One of the lawmen turned around, glancing over his shoulder. "Yes?" He handed his prisoner to the tall Indian.

"This is going to sound strange," Superman said. "But we're here to take you home."

Bond eyed the two. He quickly saw through Deanna's disguise and realized she was in fact a woman. And he thought the tall one looked familiar.

Superman took off his hat. His spit curl fell down over his forehead. "You probably don't remember me. We met for a few minutes in New York."

"Yes," Bond said, "You were with the woman reporter." He looked at Troi, confused.

"I'm Deanna Troi. It's a bit difficult to explain. Do you have the clothes you were wearing when you arrived here?"

"Uh, yes," Bond said, obviously confused. He'd given up ever going home and suddenly the big stranger from the street of New York in the year 2000 was here saying he was going home. "They're in my room at the boarding house."

"Let's get them. They can't be left here," Superman told him.

Bond hesitantly lead the two of them up a side street to a rooming house where he'd been living. The room was barely large enough for the bed.

"I don't understand," Bond said.

"Mr. Bond," Superman tried to explain now that they were in private. "The incident in New York threw you, me, Batman and Catwoman into different times. That caused a 'distortion' that threatens all time and space. We're here to take you home. Ms Troi is with a group helping us. We have to leave here before the universe falls apart."

"Threatens all time and space?" It was more than Bond could imagine. "My clothes are here," he said, pointing to the small dresser beside the bed. "And my gun and other personal effects."

"Mr. Bond," Deanna said, "The fabric from here can't go back with you. And your effects can't stay here. It could cause problems. Can you change clothes?"

"Uh, I guess so."

Superman and Deanna stepped out of the room while the British agent changed back into his suit. He emerged from the room a few minutes later. The rough clothes from Dodge City and his six guns were laying on the bed.

Superman smiled. "Let's go home." And he pressed the recall button.

* * *

### USS Enterprise, in the Beta Quadrant

Picard let out an audible sigh of relief when he saw three forms begin to materialize on the transporter pad. Riker's face split wide open with a toothy smile.

"Welcome to the Enterprise, Mr. Bond," Picard said. "I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

"We've been expecting you," Riker said.

"Should I be pleased that you all find me so popular?" Bond asked. He was still confused. To step from 1880's Kansas one minute to something out of a science fiction movie in the next was just a bit more than Bond could handle.

Batman accompanied Dr. Crusher and Dr. Bashir into the transporter room.

Seeing Batman, Bond was now beginning to put all the pieces together. He still couldn't explain where he was or how he'd gotten here, but it was at least slightly comforting to see a familiar face. Not that Bond ever thought he'd be happy to see one of the American costumed vigilantes.

Bond looked around to survey his surroundings. Those years of spy training were habit now. He wasn't overly surprised when he saw the big guy unbutton his shirt to revel the Superman shield underneath.

"We'll explain everything in due time," Picard said.

"And there's a lot to explain," Superman said, placing his hand on Bond's shoulder in a comforting gesture. Regardless of Bond's opinion about the American costumed vigilantes, Superman was an icon, a hero throughout the world. Just seeing the Man of Steel provided a level of comfort Bond wouldn't have expected.

Dr. Crusher and Dr. Bashir both ran tricorders over the newcomer. "It's okay," Deanna told him. "They're doctors and just making sure you're okay."

Bond looked to Superman, the one person he instinctively trusted. "It's okay," Superman said.

"I'm okay," Bond said. "'Alive and kicking' as you Americans would say."

The rest of the group all smiled. Even Batman cracked a small smile.

"What?" Bond asked.

"It's a long story," Superman said, with a knowing smile.

* * *

The entire group of visitors were in Ten Forward. Most of the crew of the Defiant and the Enterprise were there as well, minus the Captains. Both Picard and Sisko were updating Starfleet Command on the outcome of their latest mission. And awaiting orders as to sending the visitors home.

Bond was enjoying his first vodka martini in months. "You're telling me this isn't real vodka," he asked.

"That's right," Deanna told him. "We call it synthohol. It tastes like alcohol, but you can shake off the effects with a little willpower."

Bond took another sip and nodded his approval.

Both Riker and Stark were chatting with Selina over by the expansive window. The stars of the Beta Quadrant shone through the window. A small speck in the distance was the Defiant. From across the room, Batman watched her. She smiled, that coy little smile she used when trying to wrap a man around her claws. Both Riker and Stark were eating up the attention.

Superman and Dr. Crusher walked over to where the Dark Knight Detective stood. Superman whispered to Batman, "The doctor tells me that her memory was affected by the surgery. She hasn't mentioned knowing my real identity since the surgery, so we're hoping she's forgotten that."

"Or she got smart and decided to play her cards *after* we get back," Batman said.

"We'll see," Superman said. "If that's the case, I can handle it. Done it before, probably have to do it again. But then, you know that."

Batman nodded. He saw Ezri and Dr. Bashir sitting at a table by themselves. It was obvious they were newly in love. For a split second, deep down, Bruce admitted to himself that Bashir was a very lucky guy.

Picard strode into Ten Forward. "Attention, everyone," he announced, his authoritative voice slightly louder than usual. "I just spoke with Starfleet Command. They indicate that anomalous activity has deceased throughout the Federation. They believe the crisis is over and have given us permission to return all of our guests home as soon as possible."

Riker turned his attention away from Selina long enough to hear what Picard said. "That's great, Captain." He reached for his glass of Romulan Ale. "A toast is in order."

"I agree, Number One." Picard walked to the bar and the bar tender handed him a small glass of wine. It was from Picard's own vineyard in France. He kept several bottles in Ten Forward for occasions just like this one.

The rest of the group all reached for their drinks. Picard hoisted his wineglass. "To our newfound friends," he said.

"And to the well being of our respective universes," Superman added.

"Here, here," Riker said. "Here, here!" the rest of the group echoed.

The happiness that filled the lounge increased by several notches. Deanna could sense it, but as she looked around, she realized it was obvious to all. She thought she even detected happy feelings coming from Batman.

Picard walked over to where Selina had Tony and Will's undivided attention. "Dr. Crusher informs me that you've made a full recovery," he said to the dark-haired enchantress.

"Yes," Selina said. "Good as new."

Picard nodded. "Will, I'll leave it to you to spread the good news. Starfleet has issued a shipwide commendation for both the Enterprise and the Defiant. You'll see to it that everyone is informed and the appropriate records are updated?"

"Of course, Captain."

* * *

Geordi and Riker escorted Tony Stark to Transporter Room 1. Stark had already made his goodbyes with the rest of his newfound friends.

He slid the helmet on and powered up his Iron Man armor. The voice masking equipment in the helmet would disguise the emotion in his voice, he thought.

"Good bye, Commander Riker. You and your crew have been excellent hosts. If you're ever in my universe, be sure to stop by and visit."

"We'll do that, Tony," Riker said, smiling.

"Good bye, Tony," Geordi said, clasping his hand in the armored gauntlet of Tony's hand.

"Good bye, Geordi." Stark turned, reluctantly, and stepped onto the transporter pad. "Ready when you are, Commander."

"We're waiting for the other transporter room," Geordi said, "We have to synchronize this." He waited a few seconds. "Ah, they're signaling ready."

Stark sealed his armor and expelled the resident air from the Enterprise. The internal oxygen supply was still from his own universe. He took a couple deep breaths to try and get as much of this universe's air out of his system.

"Energizing," Geordi said. "God speed, Tony."

Stark raising his hand to wave. And dematerialized.

* * *

Captain Picard, Data, and Ezri were in Transporter Room 2 with the rest of the visitors. Data stood behind the transporter controls.

Selina was wearing her old costume. Data had repaired it as much as possible. He'd had to use fabric from the cowl to repair parts of the bodysuit. Selina held the gloves in one hand and ran her other hand nervously through her hair.

Batman and Bond already stood on the transporter pad. Superman, clad once again in only the pants and shoes he'd arrived in, shook Picard's hand. "Be sure to give everyone our thanks," Superman said. "You and Captain Sisko are very lucky to have such good people."

"Yes," Picard agreed. "They're the two best ships in the fleet." He smiled.

Superman turned to also step up onto the transporter himself.

Selina held up her hands, in mock defeat. "See? I'm clean," she teased Picard.

Picard scowled, but then his features softened and he smiled. "Good bye, Selina," he said.

"Good bye, Captain." She leaned forward and give him a kiss on the cheek. "This'll really annoy Batman," she whispered in Picard's ear.

"I don't think he noticed," Picard said.

Selina spun around to see Ezri giving Batman her own kiss. She stared down the little alien as the two women passed each other. Ezri, smiling to herself, didn't even return Selina's glance. Selina climbed up on to the transporter pad between Batman and Bond.

"The other transporter room is signaling ready, Captain," Data announced. "Ready for transport?"

"Make it so," Picard said.

* * *

### New York City

A single small girl in blue tights and skirt and a red cape floated between Godzilla and the Verrazano-Narrows bridge. "Supergirl, NO!" Steel shouted as he saw her begin to move forward.

She flew straight for the monster's head, and then at the last split second, faster than the eye could follow, she ducked under and dove into the water. Godzilla let loose with its atomic plasma.

"Supergirl!" Jon yelled, assuming the young girl was caught in the blast.

On shore, Lois covered her eyes in horror and Nightwing grabbed her shoulder. "Oh, God!" McClane said.

Wonder Woman recovered her senses just as Godzilla had blasted Supergirl. "Hera help her," the Amazon wept.

Just then, the monster seemed stunned. It looked first to the right and then to the left, as if trying to spot an irritating insect. The next moment, Godzilla seemed to lift into the air.

"Oh, no," Nightwing said. "The damned thing can fly!"

Water dripped in sheets from Godzilla's hind quarters as it lifted into the air. Its long tail, the length of a medium sized warship, hung limply as the body cleared the water line.

"Goddess be praised," Wonder Woman said. She saw the tiny blue and red speck under the monster. Supergirl was lifting the entire monster from the harbor.

"She shouldn't be able to do that," Steel said. "I don't think even Superman could do that."

Jon said, "Perhaps Kryptonians are even stronger in her universe."

The Maid of Steel carried Godzilla out to sea. The two were still in view, maybe only a mile or so from shore, when suddenly, in a shimmer, they both disappeared. The Martian Manhunter and Wonder Woman flew out to the spot where Supergirl and Godzilla had last been seen, but to no avail. The young heroine was gone and the threat to New York was gone as well.

Diana and Jon returned reluctantly to the shore where the others were standing. "She's gone?" Steel asked.

"No trace of her or of the monster," Diana said. They all stood quietly, looking out to sea.

"Monster?"

They all turned to see Superman and Batman arrive. Although Superman was bare-chested, there was no doubting that voice and stern jaw.

"Superman!" Lois exclaimed.

"Where were you?" Diana asked.

"We took a little trip, Ms. Lane," Superman said. "But we're back." The two exchanged a secret glance.

Lois was just happy to see her husband alive. She wanted to do nothing more than to throw her arms around Clark's neck and kiss him. But, in public, they couldn't hardly even acknowledge knowing each other.

"We'll debrief the rest of the JLA later," Batman said.

Superman and Batman had both rematerialized, with Bond and Catwoman, on the exact spot from which they'd disappeared. Less than a day had passed here. No sooner had the transporter beam finished reassembling their atoms than Batman's radio had picked up Oracle's emergency JLA signal. Reluctantly, they had left Catwoman in Bond's care and headed off to the entrance to New York Harbor.

"What was that about a monster?" Superman asked.

"There was some giant dinosaur," Diana informed her two newly arrived teammates. "And a young Supergirl."

"Supergirl was here?"

"Not our Supergirl," Steel said.

"'Not our Supergirl?'" Batman repeated.

"Best we could figure," Nightwing said, "was she was from some other version of Earth. As was Godzilla."

"Godzilla?" Superman asked.

"The monster," Lois said.

"Oh," Superman nodded. "Makes sense to me. How about you?" He looked at Batman.

"Perfectly," Batman responded. After what they'd both experienced, it made as much sense as anything else. "Obviously, those were the manifestations in this universe."

Wonder Woman watched the exchange between Batman and Superman. "You two seem to know a whole lot more about this than we do."

"Perhaps," Superman said. "Let's head back downtown and maybe we can explain it."

"I hope someone can explain this," Steel said.

"Ms. Lane, can I drop you somewhere?" Superman asked.

"Downtown is fine. I'm staying at the Four Seasons."

Superman scooped Lois up in his arms and launched himself into the sky.

Steel likewise gave Nightwing a ride back downtown. And Jon Jonzz lifted Batman. Diana, recovered from her dive into the water of New York Harbor, but still weak, flew along side the rest of the group.

"So, is this a new look?" Lois asked as Superman pulled away from the rest. She rubbed her hand against Clark's bare chest.

"And what's this?" Clark asked, indicating the notepad in Lois' hand. "I thought there was no work this weekend."

"Well, you just never know when a giant flame-shooting dinosaur is about to eat Staten Island," she said. "I just couldn't miss the story."

Flying high above the city, out of sight of prying eyes, Clark kissed his wife.

* * *

James Bond eyed the female cat burglar. The two costumed vigilantes had rushed off on some emergency and left him to deal with Catwoman.

"So?" she asked.

"So. You're under arrest for stealing the gemstone."

"Where's the evidence?" Catwoman asked, looking innocent.

Bond was dumbfounded. She was right. The gem was apparently lost to time. God only knew which universe it was in, if it even still existed. He had no evidence that she'd taken it. He'd have to explain the whole thing to M and probably the Home Secretary. But, with no evidence, there was no reason to hold Catwoman. 

"Sorry," she said.

"I'm the one that's sorry," Bond said, smiling at the attractive woman.

"If you're ever in Gotham, look me up," she said. She leaned forward and the two kissed. And then, she ducked down the alley and was gone.

Bond reached into his jacket and pulled out the pocket organizer Q had given him, oh, so long ago. He activated the GPS signal and was pleasantly surprised to see that he was standing on Madison Avenue in New York City, just a couple of blocks from his hotel.

* * *

Iron Man rematerialized outside Sutheby's. It was dark. He looked around, but the street was quiet at this hour. He keyed the armor's radio to the Avenger's channel and called in.

"Tony! You're back!" It was the Wasp that answered the call. She was obviously handling monitor duty.

"Jan," he said. "What day is it?"

"Relax," she said. "You've only been gone about ten hours. It's about 2 am the morning after you left."

"Mandarin?"

"He's in custody and on his way to the Vault." The Vault was the United States' secure facility for super-powered criminals.

"Good," Iron Man said. "I'm heading home," he told the diminutive woman on the other end of the communications link. "I'll stop by tomorrow morning and debrief everyone."

"Okay. Welcome home," Wasp said.

"Thanks. It's good to be home."

He activated his boot jets and headed off to his penthouse apartment.

* * *

## Epilogue

In a flash of white light, Q appeared. He was wearing a Starfleet Captain's uniform. Where he appeared was a dimension between the universes, a place with no name. The black from his uniform blended into the darkness of the mists. The imp from the Fifth Dimension was already here.

"Hey, Myxy," Q said.

"That's Mxyzptlk to you!" the imp said.

"Whatever," Q said.

"At least it's not some dumb name like 'Q'," the imp said, adjusting his hat. "And at least where I come from, we all have *different* names."

"We may all have the same name," Q contended, "But at least our name can be pronounced by any race in the multiverse."

"It's real easy," the imp said. "'MiX-YeZ-PiT-iL-iK', just like it sounds."

"There you are!" a voice bellowed.

"Who?" Mxyzptlk said.

Ares walked out of the mists. "Q," he snarled. "And the imp. This just gets better and better. I'm going to pull you both limb from limb from limb from limb."

"Hey, what's gotten into him?" Mxyzptlk asked.

"Your friend messed up my plans," Ares said through clenched teeth. "I plotted against Zeus for years. And was just about to win when your big dumb friend interfered. He's not here, so I'm going to take this out on you."

"What friend?" the imp asked.

"The one called Clark," Ares said.

"Clark? Oh, you mean Superman. He's not *my* friend," Mxyzptlk said.

"As long as this is between the two of you..." Q said.

"Stop!" Ares ordered. "This whole thing would never have happened if you hadn't put that damned gemstone on that other Earth to begin with."

"Gemstone?" Q asked. "I don't remember any gemstone...Oh, yeah, I remember. One of the indiscretions of my youth."

"Gemstone?" the imp asked.

"Well, it was really another Q. I sort of changed him, uh, her, oh, it. It sort of annoyed me."

"Enough with the quibbling," Ares yelled. "I want my vengeance. NOW!"

"Oh, please, your yelling is enough to disturbth the dead," a newcomer said. Loki walked out of the mists and greeted his fellow tricksters.

"You!" Ares yelled. "You're as much to blame as anyone."

"Me?" Loki asked. "I didn't have anything to doeth with this."

"But that damned Iron Man did," Ares said. "And he's a friend of your damnable half brother."

"Alas, our half brothers are a burden we shareth."

Ares shook this fist at the Norse God of Mischief. "I'll share *this* with you," he threatened.

"Now, now, my friends," Q said. "We shouldn't be fighting amongst ourselves. We should be figuring out a way to best our foes."

Another flash of light. Another Q appeared. One that formerly went by the name of Trelane. He was clothed in the garb of an sixteenth century English squire. "'Your foes?'" he said. "Please! You think Picard and Janeway are worthy foes? You've obviously never crossed swords with Captain James T. Kirk." To emphasize the point, Trelane made a sword appear in this hand. He swished it back and forth.

"Bah!" Another voice appeared out of the mists. This voice belonged to a woman. She floated out of the mists and came to rest before her companions. She appeared to be a human woman, with red hair, maybe sixty years old. She was, in fact, thousands of years old. She was a witch. By virtue of her race, and her years of experience with magic, she was easily the match of any of the others present.

"Endora, you honor us with your presence," Q said.

"Shut up, you little toad," she said. "You all sit here quibbling over who has the toughest foe. At least you all have worthy adversaries. All I've got is my stupid son-in-law."

Just then, another voice pierced the mists. "Mother! Mother, you appear right this instant."

Endora snorted. "I only turned him into a goat," she said. "You'd think my daughter had never heard of a witch's familiar?" She waved her hands in front of her face and disappeared.

* * *

The End.

* * *

## Character list for "Time for a Change"

This list does not count characters invented for this story. Characters are listed in no particular order.

### Main Pivotal Characters:

* Batman - Bruce Wayne, the Dark Knight Detective from Gotham City.
* Catwoman - Cat burglar from Gotham City.
* James Bond - Agent 007 from the British Secret Intelligence Service.
* Iron Man - Tony Stark, billionaire inventor and business man. Head of Stark Solutions, based in New York City.
* Superman - Clark Kent, reporter for the Metropolis Daily Planet. Husband to Lois Lane-Kent.

### Main Supporting Characters:

* Lois Lane-Kent - reporter for the Metropolis Daily Planet. Wife of Clark Kent.
* Zorro - Don Diego de la Vega, plantation owner in Spanish California and freedom fighter.
* Marshall Matt Dillon - US Marshall assigned to Dodge City, Kansas.
* Captain Jean-Luc Picard - Captain of the USS Enterprise 1701-E.
* Lt. Commander Data - USS Enterprise.
* Counselor (Lieutenant JG) Ezri Dax - DS9
* Hercules - Greek hero, son of Zeus.

### Villains:

* Q - omnipotent being who torments Capt. Picard and Capt. Janeway.
* Trelane - Another Q. 
* Ares - Greek god of war/bother of Hercules/sworn enemy of Hercules and Xena.
* Mxyzptlk - That's "MiX-YeZ-PiT-iL-iK" to you! Imp from the 5th Dimension and source of pain to Superman.
* Loki - Half bother of Thor; God of Mischief.
* Endora - Witch. Mother to Samantha, mother-in-law to Darren Stevens.

### Minor Supporting Characters:

* Black Widow - Natasha Romanoff, former Soviet spy and costumed adventuress. Member and former leader of the Avengers.
* Festus Hagen - Deputy Marshall in Dodge City.
* Kitty Russell - Owner of the Long Branch saloon.
* Thomas Magnum - from Magnum P.I.
* Commander William T. Riker - USS Enterprise.
* Doctor Beverly Crusher - USS Enterprise.
* Counselor (Commander) Deanna Troy - USS Enterprise.
* Lt. Commander Gordi La Forge - USS Enterprise.
* Doctor Julian Bashir - DS9
* Chief Miles O'Brien - DS9
* Colonel Kira Neyres - DS9; this takes place just after her promotion, but before Sisko disappears.
* Iolaus - Sidekick of Hercules.
* Xena - Greek anti-hero. Warrior Princess.
* Gabrielle - Sidekick of Xena.
* Supergirl - Pre-Crisis Kara Zor-el.
* Diana, Princess of Themyscira, Wonder Woman.
* Steel - Dr. John Henry Irons.
* Dick Grayson, Nightwing.
* Barbara Gordon, Oracle - Daughter of Gotham City Police Commissioner James Gordon, formerly Batgirl, member of the JLA, and ally of Batman.

### Cameo Characters:

* Mandarin - Arch nemesis of Iron Man.
* James West - US Secret Service agent in post-Civil War West.
* Artemis Gordon - US Secret Service agent in post-Civil War West.
* Lone Ranger - John Reid, former Texas Ranger and masked vigilante in the old West.
* Tonto - Lone Ranger's partner.
* Callisto - Enemy of Xena, sometimes ally of Ares.
* Captain Benjamin Sisko - Captain of the USS Defiant and station head at Deep Space Nine.
* Commander Worf - From DS9.
* Constable Odo - From DS9.
* Quark - From DS9.
* Morn - From DS9.
* Rom - From DS9.
* Zeus - Father of Hercules.
* Hera - Wife of Zeus, enemy of Hercules.
* Galen (Doc) Adams - Doctor in Dodge City.
* Newly O'Brien - Deputy Marshall in Dodge City.
* "Q" - From James Bond movies.
* "M" - From James Bond movies.
* Virginia "Pepper" Potts - Executive Assistant to Tony Stark.
* Jonathan Quayle Higgins - from Magnum P.I.
* "Rick" Orville Wilbour Wright III - from Magnum P.I.
* Theodore Calvin, alias T.C. - from Magnum P.I.
* Lt. Renee Montoya - Gotham City Police Department.
* Thor - God of Thunder, member of the Avengers.
* Captain America - Steve Rogers, leader of the Avengers.
* Scarlet Witch - Wanda Maximoff, member of the Avengers.
* Janet Van Dyne-Pym, the Winsome Wasp - An Avenger.
* Dr. Reed Richards - Mr. Fantastic, leader of the Fantastic Four.
* Alfred Pennyworth - Bruce Wayne's man servant.
* Bethany Cabe - From "Iron Man" (this is a little out of continuity)
* Tim Taylor - From "Home Improvement"
* Al Borland - From "Home Improvement"
* Monica Geller - From "Friends"
* Ross Geller - From "Friends"
* Chandler Bing - From "Friends"
* Joey Tribiani - From "Friends"
* Phoebe Buffet - From "Friends"
* Jerry Seinfeld - From "Seinfeld"
* George Castanza - From "Seinfeld"
* Eliane Benes - From "Seinfeld"
* Cosmo Kramer - From "Seinfeld"
* The Professor - From "Gilligan's Island"
* Gilligan - From "Gilligan's Island"
* Ginger - From "Gilligan's Island"
* The Skipper - From "Gilligan's Island"
* Mr. Howell - From "Gilligan's Island"
* Mrs. Howell - From "Gilligan's Island"
* Mary Ann - From "Gilligan's Island"
* Captain Benjamin Franklin (Hawkeye) Pierce - From "MASH."
* Captain B. J. Hunnicut - From "MASH."
* Colonel Sherman T. Potter - From "MASH."
* Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake - From "MASH." Rest in Peace, Henry.
* Major Margaret Houlihan - From "MASH."
* Major Charles Emerson Winchester III - From "MASH."
* Corporal Walter Eugene (Radar) O'Reily - From "MASH."
* Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger - From "MASH."
* Nurse Kelley - From "MASH."
* Fred Flintstone - From "The Flintstones"
* Wilma Flintstone - From "The Flintstones"
* Pebbles Flintstone - From "The Flintstones"
* Barney Rubble - From "The Flintstones"
* Betty Rubble - From "The Flintstones"
* Bam-Bam Rubble - From "The Flintstones"
* Sam - Bartender in the Long Branch, from Gunsmoke.
* Peter Parker - Spiderman.
* Jonah Jameson - Publisher of the Daily Bugle.
* Perry White - City Editor of the Daily Planet.
* Ron Troupe - Reporter for the Daily Planet.
* Jimmy Olsen - Photographer for the Daily Planet, friend of Clark Kent and Lois Lane.
* Dr. Frasier Crane - from "Frasier".
* Roz Doyle - Frasier radio program producer, from "Frasier."
* Jon Jonzz, Martian Manhunter.
* Godzilla - The classic, not that stupid thing from Sony a couple summers ago.
* John McClane, from Die Hard. I made him a Captain--formerly seen in Die Hard with Vengeance as a Lieutenant.
* Emergency Medical Hologram - Star Trek: the Next Generation/DS9. Same program as the "Doctor" on Star Trek: Voyager.
* Chris Stevens - from Northern Exposure. Seen, but not identified by name.
* Maurice Minnifield - from Northern Exposure.
* Dr. Joel Fleishman- from Northern Exposure.
* General Maximus - Roman general and gladiator, circa 180 AD Roman Empire.
* Marshall Brisco County - Father of Brisco County, Jr.
* Brisco County, Jr. - From the television show of the same name.

### Cameo characters mentioned, but not seen

* Nog - From DS9. Mentioned, not seen.
* Leeta - From DS9. Mentioned, not seen.
* Don Alejandro de la Vega - Diego's father. Mentioned, not seen.
* Sergent Mendoza - Head of the Pueblo de Los Angeles milita. Mentioned, not seen.
* Alcalde Ignacio de Soto - Appointed representative of the Spanish government in the Pueblo de Los Angeles. Mentioned, not seen.
* Curzon Dax - Dead. Mentioned, not seen.
* Jadzia Dax - Dead. Mentioned, not seen.
* Emony Dax - Dead. Mentioned, not seen.
* The Joker - Mentioned, not seen.
* Jetsons - Mentioned, not seen.
* King Arthur - Mentioned, not seen.
* Ra's al Ghul - Mentioned (not by name), not seen.
* Pamely Isley, Poison Ivy - Mentioned, not seen.
* Zatanna - Mentioned, not seen.
* Dr. Fate - Mentioned, not seen.
* Wally West, Flash - Mentioned, not seen.
* Wesley Crusher - Star Trek: the Next Generation. Mentioned, and thankfully, not seen.
* Dinah Lance, Black Canary - Mentioned, not seen.
* Karen Star, Power Girl - Mentioned, not seen.
* Green Arrow, Oliver Queen - Mentioned in memorial, not seen.
* Crimson Fox - Mentioned, not seen.
* Arthur, King of Atlantis, Aquaman - Mentioned, not seen.
* Kyle Rayner, Green Lantern - Mentioned, not seen.
* Doctor Emil Hamilton - Friend of Superman, mentioned, not seen.
* Lex Luthor - Nemesis of Superman, mentioned, not seen.
* Susan Richards, Invisible Woman - Mentioned, not seen.
* Johnny Storm, Human Torch - Mentioned, not seen.
* Benjamin J. Grimm, The Thing - Mentioned, not seen.
* Dr. Bruce Banner, The Hulk - Mentioned, not seen.
* Doctor Victor Von Doom - From Marvel Comics (mentioned, not seen. His Time Machine plays a pivotal part in the story.)
* Lt. Tanaka - from Magnum P.I. (mentioned, not seen)
* Ice Pick - from Magnum P.I. (mentioned, not seen)

### Real People:

* Stephen Hawking - mentioned.
* Emeril Lagasse, chef and Food Network star.
* Princess Diana. Mentioned, not seen.
* Prince William. Mentioned, not seen.
* Major Gregory R. "Pappy" Boyington, commanding officer of VMF-214, the Black Sheep squadron.

### Homages

* Futurama - Mention as a TV show, not seen.
* Cheers - Not seen, not mentioned, but homage is paid in the scene with Morn (Norm, spelled backwards...) entering Quark's.
* James T. Kirk - Captain of the USS Enterprise 1701 and 1701-A. Not in the story, but an invented character has a similar name and may be a distant ancestor.
* Montgomery (Scotty) Scott - Engineer of the Enterprise 1701 and 1701-A. Not in the story, but homage is paid to him with another character nicknamed "Scotty."
* Dr. Leonard (Bones) McCoy - Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise 1701 and 1701-A. Not in the story, but homage is paid to him with another character nicknamed "Bones."
* Dr. Charles Xavier - Professor X of the X-Men. Not seen, but mentioned. Iron Man notes a familiarity between Professor X and Captain Picard...a little inside joke on Patrick Stewart's roles.


End file.
